For the love of imperfect mermaids.

The wood carved mermaid stares at me.  And I stare back at her.  One breast is larger than the other.  And she doesn’t balance well.  That has little to do with the breast though.  It’s just the way she is.  My sister had noticed it about the carving too.  But I had forgotten it until just now.

And she is not a particularly pretty mermaid.  But I love her all the same.  A reminder of where I have been.  And in less clear ways where I am going.  Though somedays that feels like nowhere.

The broken glass in the trunk of my car.

And maybe the broken glass should have been a sign.  Though perhaps signs are meant to be ignored.  Much like rules are meant to be broken.  Because a sign isn’t a real answer.

But I’m not sure what answer I was looking for.  Only that I needed an answer.  And sometimes that is enough.  Because this has been a turning point.  And there are days that I need to know that I am doing the right thing.

And so I find myself slowly picking up the pieces.  And asking questions that I couldn’t ask a year ago.  But it’s what I came back here to do.

Some people are beyond help.

My dismal attempts at becoming an optimist are failing.  And I’m not sure that I really care anymore.  Though it feels like a fall from grace.  Because I’m no longer sure what I wanted to be an optimist for.

But maybe it’ll come back.  Like it always does.  Maybe this time is no different.

Because it doesn’t make you any more capable of dealing with the problems in front of you.  When the woman cries and you are unsure what to do.  Her clothes are strewn about.  There is something lost about her.  Panic.  Drugs?  I don’t know.  And when she talks to herself and I can barely hear.  Though I am not sure that I want to.  But she doesn’t care and maybe I don’t either.  Because she’s not completely there.  But then neither am I, because I am flashing back to a man and his daughter.

And I think I’ll do it again.

For a moment I am no longer homeless.  Though it wasn’t supposed to be this way.  Because this situation is temporary.  But I guess it all is now.  Still, it’s enough to make me want to stay here.  Because there is a dog with a house that we built on some rainy day.  And the farmer’s market.  With empanadas made by Argentinians.  And kumquats for two dollars a basket.  And I watch the sun fall down over the water.  And I think I’ll do it again.  Tomorrow.  So I do.  Because I think I am going to like living here.

For a while.  Because this time I know it’s only for a while.

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