Where I Belong

I don’t have to hop a plane and travel to Paris, or dine in fancy French restaurants and take selfies with hundred dollar bottles of wine, although that would be incredible, to have what I might call a “perfect weekend.” It could start with a simple Friday morning note from Paul on the kitchen counter telling me he loves me and can’t wait to see me, finished with my reply of “another weekend!! Love you!”

A perfect weekend could mean staying in on a Friday night, covered in a blanket with my legs stretched out over his, with a warm cat curled up on my lap, texting my sister “only 2 weeks til your wedding <3 <3 <3”, or it could be a night of good beers at a kitchen table with old friends. It might consist of waking up early on Saturday for your Maid of Honor dress fitting with your mom, and it might continue with a breezy beach day and a sparkling sun shining down on your face over the rippled ocean. It might include long naps and movies you've seen a thousand times, but somehow you still cry when Mr. Big doesn't show up at the wedding.

Maybe you’ll spend the next day honoring your mother for all that she has done for you, while coming to the realization over small talk at your hometown lake, that she was your first best friend and after 28 years, she still is. This is when you might look up to the clouds and silently thank God that you got so damn lucky.

You might end the night by having dinner with your family and homemade coffee frappes with your man. He might fall asleep first, although you may beg him not to because there’s something extra comforting about being the first one to fall asleep, all before you gaze out the window thanking God again for this little slice of heaven.

I might wake up on Monday morning with another note in Paul’s familiar handwriting, telling me another weekend is over but that he loves me very much, and I may find myself smiling and being okay with the fact that I’m entering another hectic Monday morning…

I may catch myself looking around our trendy little apartment, full of morning sunbeams, a sleepy cat, and our pictures hanging on the wall, thinking about the first night we moved in. Grabbing my keys, sunglasses, and my purse, I think to myself… I might not be in Paris, but maybe Paris isn’t as great as this.

The Saddest Eclipse

Ever think of what will happen when the sun gives up its light?

Knowing all too well that it’s just not worth the fight,

When the sky just separates and there’s nothing left in sight

‘Cause the moon, you know, she always wins

Whether wrong or right….

That stubborn moon, the stars will scream

Why can’t she understand?

She’s nothing but a cold dark sphere

Without the sun to hold her hand….

And just like that, regret sinks in,

But she won’t change her mind….

Too stubborn to admit she’s wrong,

Leaving the world below her blind.

And a lunar love comes to an end,

It hurts worse than she’ll make known

But she wants to shine all by herself

Light the sky all on her own….

And so it comes, a deep black smoke

Everything just fades,

And the sun sits there behind a cloud

Wiping tears off of its face

See, nothing lasts forever

As the sun was taught to learn,

But we all need some help from somebody

Or like the moon, we’ll crash and burn….

-Holly A. Wolti