Dec 6, 2020
seen from United States
seen from Georgia
seen from Germany
seen from China
seen from Germany
seen from Malaysia
seen from Australia
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from Saudi Arabia
seen from France
seen from T1
seen from Georgia
seen from Malaysia
seen from Taiwan
seen from Croatia
seen from Hong Kong SAR China
seen from United States
seen from Germany
If my body had a memory, would I want her to tell me her side of the story? Could she explain to them why she loves hugs, but is still never quite used to them? Could she explain the scars, about how they don’t yearn for kisses anymore? Could she explain the weight gain, to drown out the words of hatred with her taste buds? Could she explain the panic attacks in high school mid-basketball-game where she would have to run off court? Could she explain the flinching at someone’s touch?Could she explain the struggle to breathe when someone raises their voice?
Maybe she could explain her hopes and dreams. How she never imagined being alive this long. How she doesn’t know how to react yet she is still standing strong. How she has learned the difference between nurturing and forceful touches. How she still struggles with it all, but holds onto hope that some day, someone will love every inch of her the way she was destined to be loved. Even if she has to take her own two arms and wrap them warmly around herself at night. Even if she has to do silly dance moves in the mirror to crack a smile. Even if she has to play with her own hair, and caress her own cheek.
They spent so long tearing her apart, however, she has spent just as long fighting back.
Could she explain the blissfulness of being on the water, how it brings her back to when she was child? Could she explain the mesmerizing feeling of falling in love for the first time? Could she explain the angelic feeling of the warmth of her pet as she cuddles up against her every night? Could she explain the breathlessness of kissing the one she loves for the very first time? Could she explain the pride from within when she remembers the scars, as a reminder she survived?
Could she explain the exhaustion of the years she worked so hard to keep herself safe, when all everyone wanted to do was break her into a million shattered pieces?
I think maybe, she’s trying to.
From The Moment I Saw You
Rushing Through
Is it sad I would pick up everything right now and leave with little to nothing except my dog and cat? I daydream often about what that would look like, what adventure I would go on, or who I would meet. Maybe some of what I’ve read in novels are true, or if nothing else I can capture some stunning images along my voyage. Someone sweeter would take me in as family, maybe, if their soul recognized mine. That instant warmth and knowingness upon meeting, you know what I mean? That I’ve-met-you-in-a-past-life type connection. Or maybe even just someone with deep empathy. I had a client once who just began sharing personal details of her life with me due to how comfortable she felt talking with me. Is it an aura thing? Maybe so, either way, I’ll never complain over some sprinkles of magic surrounding us.
Making someone feel validated is always a beautiful thing, as is anything that feels like magic, so there’s no way auras or daydreams or even sharing with friends could ever be a sad ordeal. Because if they truly love you for who you are, fully and unconditionally, it doesn’t matter. They are there for you and you are there for them, that’s how it works.
have some flow glow that I wrote when I was sad 🙂↕️
getting back into writing again because I have strong emotions
Maybe I like this so much because in the beginning I felt chosen. I felt seen and heard and appreciated. Then, as per usual, I was discarded. As if I’m a flower and as you picked my petals off, one by one, you decided that day how to approach “us”
“She loves me” whisper the paragraphs I read on my phone screen about how incredible I am and how life changing meeting me has been, talks of a beautiful future filled with freedom and laughter and safety and comfort.
“She loves me not” scream the echos at night in my mind of her saying the words: “I’m staying with him”
I scream in silent agony as my petals are plucks day by day. But your hands are soft as you gently caress my fully bloomed form, as if the sun herself was filling all of my wilted and cracked edges, beaming anew with light.
“She loves me” when we end up smiling so hard in between kisses, when I look into her eyes and see the whole damn universe.
“She loves me not” when she’s still not ready, and the “I don’t know’s” and “I think so’s” start becoming the only constant thing she has held true to.
How many more petals do I have left, for not even I know. Time and time again as I let others close enough to merely glance at my beauty, they don’t value my fullness in bloom enough to let me be. They want to take the most beautiful parts of my back with them, to forward on to another or press into a page in a book. That book has more spine than any of the fools who keep ripping me apart.
I am still blooming, and yes maybe more petals will appear, but with only time and watering and care. I fear if she continues to take more and more of me I will be nothing more than a mere twig. My roots are deep but they are also screaming, as each day goes by, begging to find some solace to quench the thirst of being cared for in return.
“She loves me” does she? how have her actions spoke louder than the words on the screen? How has she watered my soil? When was the last time if she checked to see what the weather was like where I am planted? When did she ever come to visit without plucking another petal?
“She loves me not” I am not weak and without you I will still, stand tall. But with you, maybe, if we took a gardening class and you learned how to nourish my roots, blooms and all — we could both grow. My petals will come back in due time, either with your absence or your presence, that’s for you to decide.