Tonight Phil and I went to see "Beasts of the Southern Wild".
The trailer (above) is captivating in itself, but please - go see it.
We watched the film unfold before us as time and thoughts of other things vanished. My heart was ripped out of my chest and spread across the screen, pumping harder and faster as each moment evolved. The people behind us conspired loudly through the picture, wondering where the story was set and laughing at the most painful parts.
As I cried into Phil's arms, munching through the popcorn coronals, I realized the grief inside me that hasn't worked it's way out, that is buried deep within me. My heart, lately, consists of a thin rubber water balloon, filled with banana pudding. As each scene changed and the film progressed, I felt a needle poking holes in my heart, and the thick pudding trying to ooze out. But it couldn't.
Images of pain I've witnessed through the past year seemed to appear upon the screen, causing me to cry harder, annoying the other people as they enjoyed their afternoon outing.
(This is a post I wrote months and months ago, but didn't have the courage to post).
Ever hopeful.
