It’s been nothing but pouring rain since we poured our love away and I’m not sure if I’m speaking metaphorically or not. But today is a sunny day and it’s warm, but not too warm, and I can hear music but it’s not loud enough for me to dance to its beat, and the air is as thick as it is soft. Speaking of beat, that’s how my body feels and some part of me believes that the emotional motion sickness has finally set in, my body is asking me to choose a mood and my heart’s trying to explain that we’ll just have to be in the limbo for a few more days. I’ve been writing a lot and posting very little. Honestly, I was thinking a lot, speaking some, and doing none. Nothing that matters, anyways.
I’m proud, however, of how much I’ve grown. I’ve complained about everyone looking at me as if I’m some kind of ticking time-bomb, but maybe I was looking in the mirror in just the same way. It’s force of habit, I suppose. I’ve been settled into this steady pace for a few years now, but at times it still seems new. I talk a lot about my fragile balance, and even my therapist has called me out on that, I’m a lot of things, but I have never been fragile. I’m the king of cups, for god’s sake. That’s the thing, I guess, I’ve always been proud of the way I carry myself, but lately I’ve been proud of the way I nurture the soul that is underneath. It becomes treacherously easy to keep your grace when you’ve faced trouble all your life, but it takes work to be grounded when, inside myself, I’ve known nothing but chaos. Aging has never felt natural, even in the of midst this balance of mine. I’m almost 21 and it feels steady and true, for the first time. I’ve grounded myself and I’ve been proud of this for a while.
I suppose that’s why it feels strange to be face to face, once again, with this ever-lasting fight that goes on within me. From time to time, like clockwork, I have had to stop this yearning for balance and accept the chaos that I so naturally lock inside the back drawer of my mind. The last note I wrote on the subject was about two years ago, and another two years before that. Part of this acceptance means seeing my downfalls for what they are: downfalls. But it also means learning forgiveness, that is, forgiving myself as I would a sister, a mother, a lover, and even a father. Growth is forgiveness and forgiveness is growth and maybe that’s what it means to be a human being, and, honestly, nothing feels stiffer to me than being just that. But that I am. This means many things, and each time the clock runs out I learn more on how to grow as a being of chaos, and I must call myself out again and remind myself that there must be room in my steadiness for the essence of that which I am.
unpleasant conversations 