Drowning in a Floral Print
I would do anything to be nine again, drowning in a floral print, head barely peaking from the quilt, the sound of music playing for the tenth time – soft snores escaping my nannas lips and the acute awareness that it was probably past my bedtime.
Recently I have been feeling the closest I have ever felt to womanhood – childhood becoming a sweet old friend. Feeling nostalgia for the present moment, I dream of every person I have ever met, every conversation, every hug or lack of, every smile, frown, or sweet apology from a stranger trying to get by. I am the deep grief that penetrates my bones when I think of friendships and relationships that have ended. I guess what I am trying to say is, that I would not be me if it was not for every single human that has ever touched me, in some way; and the woman in me loves what the child in me could only dream of. To me there is something ethereal in the soul crushing moments of despair and confusion – a nothingness can only mean the God in you is shedding, preparing for a new bloom. I am scared and always will be, in this I feel alive.
Recently I have been feeling the closest I have ever felt to womanhood – childhood becoming a sweet old friend. Feeling nostalgia for the present moment, I dream of every person I have ever met, every conversation, every hug or lack of, every smile, frown, or sweet apology from a stranger trying to get by. I am the deep grief that penetrates my bones when I think of friendships and relationships that have ended. I guess what I am trying to say is, that I would not be me if it was not for every single human that has ever touched me, in some way; and the woman in me loves what the child in me could only dream of. To me there is something ethereal in the soul crushing moments of despair and confusion – a nothingness can only mean the God in you is shedding, preparing for a new bloom. I am scared and always will be, in this I feel alive.
I love how much I can love.
- Short Piece
Comments
Post a Comment