Without Words

Yesterday afternoon Chris and I went to Megan Q. Bostic's exhibit in downtown Greenville.

I can't even tell you. . . .

I can't even tell you how I really wanted to grab some wine bottles and drown myself in a puddle of tears while walking through and looking at the pieces.

Anything to make the pain and sadness stop.

However, that just would not have been a good life decision.

And Megan did not need a crazy, crying, drunk person at her party.

I have my opinions about what most of the pieces reminded me of in regards to the family and emotions I've felt.

I have my opinions about what the pieces made me feel.

I have my opinions about what they did to my soul.

I found myself staring at them for a while and trying to remain composed in a room full of friends and strangers.

A little piece of me died in that room.

I found myself being unable to speak about what I thought they represented because I knew it would bring me too close to the point of devastation.

I don't know if I'll ever be able to speak of them without crying.

Right now I'm not allowing myself to talk about them out loud.

I just can't.

As we were leaving, Chris felt the need to talk about the pieces so he could recover.  He had asked Megan about a few of them and wanted to share that with me to get it out.

He didn't need to tell me.

I already knew.

But I couldn't even speak more than a few sentences about what I felt some of the materials represented before needing to take a breath and changing the subject.

I don't know Megan well, but I recognized a lot in her work.

She totally delivered and I was not left wanting more because it was exactly how I was feeling.

I don't know if I could even handle more.  

I am so pissed.

I am so sad.

I am so proud.

I am raw.

I am so. . . I don't know.