journals are a gift, quiet is a gift, pens are a gift, scribbling out words is a gift, emptying your heart is a gift, the sun is a gift and the rain is a gift, stories from others are a gift, love is a gift, laughter at a bar is a gift, coffee is a gift
learning that deep feminine energy is not reflected as dressing a certain way/seeking attention/sexualizing myself but a distilled essence of being, a calmness, a centered quality of total acceptance and pure love of my being as I am in every state. and that feminine energy emanates from my being as I love truest myself deeper.
sometimes you will see something saying what if it is all worth it or it gets better, doesn’t it and in the little heart of you - you feel a darkness.
was it love, the way i was hurt? some things don’t have a lesson in them. no silver lining. they were bad things, and they shouldn’t have happened. i’m sorry they did. i am sorry they warp the space they hold in you. we tightrope walk around an ever-present grave. we carry that ache for so long it becomes smooth, overworn. i worry that i’ll bore my therapist - despite all of my attempts, the pain persists the same, as sharp as it always was.
but it was all love.
every ugly moment after. every bad night. every time you drank too much and cried on the bathroom floor. every time you threw up from anxiety, every time you panicked in the grocery store. everything you ruined, and everything you walked away from.
some small part of you loved you enough. made you get up. made you wash your face and clean your teeth and call home. made you try again, even from the bottom. even when you were so tired of it; of restarting, of having to do-it-all-again. some part of you reached out. some part of you reached up. even there, in the bad spot - you somehow got up.
love will so rarely be big. it will so rarely be a moment like a dawn. love is shy, i think. she keeps her hands in front of her cheeks. she waits to peek out. and if you’re not looking, she will look - normal.
but it will all be love. the way you pour yourself a glass of water. the little rabbit outside your window. your friend pushing your hair behind your ear. the way your dog greets you at the door. “put on a seatbelt”. “text me when you get home safe”. “oh, i started watching that show you love.” “have you been okay?” “let’s go for a walk” “whatcha doin?” “what should i make for dinner?”
oh, my life is so different these days. i don’t have a partner. i call my friends a lot. i keep falling in love with the little tender moments; the glittering ones. you know, the bird in a puddle and the shush of a newly-lit candle. the movie-moments.
i am also learning to love the ugly. every moment i spent belly-flat to the floor, anxious and panting. every hour i stared at nothing, losing time to my adhd. every missed opportunity and bad memory. i am not doing well. i am spiralling.
but somewhere in there, while i am reduced to ashes. some part of me is an ever-burning ember. her little thankless job, her shy and croaking voice. she holds me to my body. she doesn’t let me go. stay, she whispers. out of love. my love. wherever it goes.
some of the bad things that happened to me will always be bad. they did not make me a better person. they made me worse. i only learned what i can endure. and i did endure it. and love wasn’t just the perfumed moments. love was just … staying. while it’s ugly and hard and horrible. love was just saying:
okay. i will keep trying. keep going. i owe it to the version of myself who brought me here. i owe it to my future. i owe it to the small loves i have found since - the music and the new recipes and the new books and the new hobbies. i owe it to myself to wait for the next best thing. this wall we have hit - love says keep walking. maybe one day we will find a door.
