Finally in love with me. From inside the depths of my soul to my roots of curls. I’ve waited so long to feel so healthy, so healed, and so ready to take on life. I thought and planned that by the time I got here I’d be celebrating with you. Maybe you weren’t meant to be part of this celebration. Maybe all the times you made me feel like shit for healing brought us to this.
Aw well, let the celebrating commence!!!
The winding road ahead makes my stomach churn. The past grabs at my ankles and the present slips away every few seconds. Sometimes apple pie slows me down and sometimes it’s him. But in between the ahead and behind is the place I strive to be.
Writing everyday is getting easier. It’s finding what I want to say that is the challenge for me. I search and read and think and talk to people and then it hits me and I write about it until it loses it’s magic. Then I’m back where I started.
It’s not that I lack inspiration. I have overwhelming amounts of that. It’s more that I want to stand for something I believe deeply in.
How I’m feeling about my writing lately
I haven’t really been able to settle into a story I’m committed to. I’ve been jumping around different short stories hoping to find one I can snuggle into or one that makes me so uncomfortable I can’t help but think about it. I’ve been using my own life, the things I want in life, fictional ideas, etc. I just don’t really feel connected to any of them. It helps when I know what I want to say.
With all that being said, I write anyway.
Fear’s shadow lingers in the crack below the door
I keep that door locked
Even though sometimes it swings wide open
I pace by it from time to time
But I don’t even touch the handle
I hate to twiddle my thumbs
While I think up the worst case scenario
I don’t even like to talk about it
But maybe if I share
You’ll see it too
In front of our eyes
The door will disappear
Fear is healthy and normal but it’s not meant to control your entire life.
First thing today, is to figure out how he will love her. He loves her, that isn’t the question. But how would he show her? Yesterday, it was with a small note, I love you handwritten on it that hid underneath her tea cup. A teacup he picked out for her and filled with black tea he steeped the way she likes it. But, today was a new day and another chance to figure out how to love her. He walked to the kitchen and leaned against the counter to think. He looked around at the bills scattered in front of the Keurig and the pile of discarded recyclables by the trash. He takes a deep breath and fear overwhelms his thoughts. That feeling of not being good enough weighs him down. But she needs his love and so he pushes through it. I’ll find something in the living room. Toys surround the perimeter of the room. The plastic, colorful, and imaginative toys lighten his mood. But, his fears whisper the word tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow it will be easier he agrees. And sits in the rocking chair his wife nurses in. It’s an awkward chair, not his first choice, but it was for her. There’s no use in waiting a voice from inside says. He reaches into his pocket for a small notebook he carries around with him at work and goes to his disheveled desk for a pen hidden by months worth of mail to be organized. He walks back to sit in the awkward chair and taps his chin. Eyes shut tight, he writes I love you because you exist and I love that. Those words are embarrassing to him, but he knows she needs to hear it. So he tears the paper from his small notebook and stands up to leave it on her seat. He walks away and turns to look at the note. I should rewrite it. He takes a step. No, no she will like it. It’s good enough.
In a few hours things will settle back into place
Unless I don’t want them to
I have thought myself into a sort of teeter totter
The good runneth over
the bad hiddeth my cup
but in a few hours this piece will join the rest
and I’ll be one step closer to whole
I crossed the threshold.
It took some time.
I paced the door
looked in the key hole
I even tested the handle
then finally, I crossed the threshold
only to find another hall
full of a hundred more wonky doors
This is a nice hall
I hall worth resting in
I’ll test some more doors tomorrow
Seasons of solitude Or Seasons of hell
I wriggled out of my skin
And danced under the sunlight
I let the world fall away
To embrace the woman
I’ve worked so hard to become
The floodgates opened
And washed away all my worries
In that moment
I was free
The cafe is slow and steady but my writing is sporadic, hiding between thoughts of four hundred word challenges and how I have to get the hair out of the bathroom sink. Images from “The Ring” whistle by and I notice a wasp kill a random bug outside the cafe window. Or maybe it was his own butt the whole time. I’ll never know. The truth is I didn’t feel like writing about the wasp or anything else happening right in front of me but I couldn’t make up anything else more interesting.