Jan 22, 2023
You know for someone in their Death card year I've made a surprisingly lack of trips to the cemeteries this year.
seen from Singapore
seen from China
seen from Australia
seen from Algeria
seen from Singapore
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from China
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from Argentina
seen from Singapore
seen from Yemen
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from China
You know for someone in their Death card year I've made a surprisingly lack of trips to the cemeteries this year.
I can't hasten healing, or growth, but gods do I ever want to lean in on the things that I'm drawn to lately: let the microbial fungi feast on the dead things inside me, let my old skin shed like a snake's, leaving behind the ghost of me.
My Death Year so far feels ... ugly duckling. Things are sloughing off me in fat chunks, greasy or desiccated or both: things that choked me, things that weighed me down. They were things I didn't realized I piled onto myself to keep me safe, but the only thing they did in the end, as I tried to heal, was to suffocate my instead.
How can I tearfully demand something to wrap around myself when I was so easily ignorant to seeing my tree stripped of branches, leaves, even the bark that protected the core of me?
The bar is set so low for 2017 but I'm sure 2017 will limbo underneath it