I am not sure whether one is supposed to mourn a house. A friend, maybe. But I am mourning both. I have found myself this morning with a profound sense of loss, something I am not really familiar with. The days have been longer, brighter, sunnier. Spring is truly here and with it all the headiness of shedding the cold and dark. So I really have no reason to feel so heavy hearted. I have lost two things that were important to me, not to death, and I am thinking of Elizabeth Bishop.
Los Angeles is my home. I can not deny the enchantment I feel. I am in its grip. Our house will be sold and with it my anchor. There is a finality to that. The fact that the man who is buying the house is someone I know, someone completely lovely, a man with the heart of a poet, does not help. Or perhaps it does a little.
The friend is different. Although I use that word carefully now. I wonder how far does a friendship go when an infraction cannot be forgiven. I say that not as a judgement but an observation. I screwed up royally but not intentionally. I apologized profusely over a year. I have attempted to be present and to make reparations. I am sad. There is nothing else that can be done.
I want to be the "fuck you" person but I am not. I want to say it loudly and mean it. But I don't. I am sad and I am mourning the end of a long, long friendship. I will get over it, of course. There is so much to celebrate and so much to be grateful for. But today, on the first gray day in a week, I feel small and alone and not the roaring Leo tiger I am supposed to be.