In case of THE OPEN OCEAN

I’ve seen a lot of Bobby over the past few days and it’s been great. 

I really can’t be more honest than that.  It’s great.  There’s no lingering pain, no real sorrow, no pangs of guilt or regret when I look into his eyes.  There’s only joy.  He and I both love what we were and what we are and whatever we’ll become.  I think we’re a rare breed of exes.

But I do still ache for the fracturing of relationships in general.  Why do hearts have to break?  Why do human beings hurt each other?  The fact that Bobby and I are good now doesn’t erase all the damage that we’ve sustained over the years.  He and I built a boat and it didn’t weather the storm.  It broke apart, smashed on the rocks.  And this new vessel we’re crafting from the pieces is different.  Lighter, more fragile.  Water-stained. 

I don’t know.

I’ve seen so much pain recently.  I’ve seen so much history.  It seems like everyone I know is walking around with these scars from past voyages, dragging shards and remnants.  Anchors and chains of seaweed.  Ghosts in billowed canvas.  And we’re all just trying to move on.

But can we do that?  Should we even do that, fully? 

Look at the sheer number of memorials we’ve built in this country.  We have a memorial for every painful thing.  The Vietnam War.  The Holocaust.  We try to get past it, try to get past the crimes and the tragedies, but at the same time we want to remember.  We have to remember.  We move on.  But we never really sail away.

And I don’t think it’s bad. 

I don’t think memorial is bad. 

Because every now and then, no matter where we’ve gone since the wreck, we need to look, really look, at the storm.  We need to say, “This is the wave that capsized us.  This was the night we lost sight of the beacon.”

So maybe, I guess, we can also say, "Never again."  

Never again.  That's what I hope.