She stopped trying so hard, left despite how much she wanted to stay. Experienced the agitation of not wanting to let go. So she still clung on. In subtle ways. She knew she was still there, she was still angry, she was still bitter.
I got home and watered my succulents. On the verge of death I apologised to them. “I know I have neglected you, I am sorry. I was selfishly preoccupied by my failure to understand why we fail when we’re have tried so much, but I’m back now.” Water for three days revived my succulents like they were heaven sent. And the Universe smiled at me, “welcome back child.”
Blooming, succulents are blooming with life and love and she must share. She feels if she shares a plant, she spreads the love and flower power. She is so excited she wishes she knew someone else just like her. But if there were another her, she might find her nauseating and arousing. They’d have a glorious toxic love affair. Then she’d turn around in bed, look at her and still master the courage to stubbornly say, “I still fucking love you, but you girl you make me madder than Hatter”.
I should stop thinking so hard, I am going to hurt your brain. *Whispers to self* – “Let it flow. Live a little. Feel something new. What’s the worst that could happen? Just be here. What’s the worst that could happen? Just be here. Take it all in. Just be here. You are here. So be here.” What a beautiful thing it is to be in the moment, it was beautiful. Like an aerial view, so I have acquired a taste for clouds, and fresh air, my lungs love it. I’m green for my body’s ecology.
“What nourishes me kills me” but a girl’s got to eat right? Evening drizzles like a cliché, she’s embracing yet she’s feeling nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing at all. What happened to all those emotions she thought she would never get over? Where did they all go? Where are the butterflies and marshmallows and and the anxiety? Oh you deceitful body, where is her anxiety?
Liberation sometimes comes like a moth to the light powered by that anger. And then the light goes off, the moth of liberation finds home in my soul. So I smiled, gave a pat and a peck. Watched all the excess longings of longings fall away and flow into some dark drain much further and foreign from me. My tongue bleeds no more and my heart is content. All is well with the world and my soul, the fire in my belly means something else now. I sing again. I can actually sing again. This new found comfortability that I lost a few years ago. It’s back. You phenomenal moth you.
She was floating in limbo, singing with her eyes closed to better find her voice, then she felt something strong pull her in. It wasn’t quite like gravity. It was more like a high-key magnetic and low-key hypnotic pull. Curious girls always wonder, so she wondered, “what if I yield to it?”