You know that age-old advice to find a way to be “whole” only comes when you feel half-empty? When “full” is a marathon you can’t begin to comprehend because you’re burning out on the 100-yard dash.

I am empty. I am broken. I am not. Whole.
Not even close.

This, I realize of course, is the glaring reason I am alone right now. Ironically, when you’re empty—precisely at the moment that you need another to lean on—is when you’re most injured by reaching out. You’re like a cat that’s getting bathed—you hurt everything that gets in your way, including yourself.

I’m a wet cat. Ha. At least I can still steal a laugh.

And now, let me put words in my mouth:

Hold my arms back when they reach for you—because they will. Because I’m not strong enough to pin them down myself. Hope blows the boughs a little upon your entry. I may not know “whole,” but I know I love you.