Mid-Day Apr.23.16

I turn to it and look. I’m not looking for an answer, I’m not here for anything, I’m just here to listen if it wants to speak. It never does, but it does something that tells me something. It would dance sharply with stilettos, it would embrace and tingle the curtains, it would shake its body in subtle vibrations, or sometimes it would try to embrace me in its warm silken body. It does other things, but I haven’t gotten to know them. Most of the time, though, it is silent, but most of the time when it demands attention, it dances with its stilettos, stepping hard across the stage and making itself be heard.

And I’ve realized that it’s a dangerous game I’m playing. And I’ve also realized that that realization in itself is also dangerous. Calm like the sea after a storm, and maintaining tranquility even amidst the storm. Equanimity. Equanimity. Equanimity.

— — —

I’m trying to do something. I’m trying to write something productive. I’m trying to forcefully dig in and get something out. I’m recreating imagery so I can describe them. Relive the past that is already past. It springs from a desire to be heard. Springs from a desire to be cared for, to be embraced, and to be empathized for my pain, my past, and to be heard of how strong I was, or how much of a struggle it was, how bad my life was, or how shitty it was. And I would always say back to myself,

And I’m sorry. I’m sorry for giving you the hardest time. I’m sorry for not listening when I needed to. I love you. And I’m back. Back as a whole. I feel wholesome, I feel relaxed, I am mostly aware.