When I close my eyes, the darkness has been replaced with slate gray, like snow has come and gone and made mush of everything inside. Hiding in my heart is a kitten without a home, still cold from the storm, still afraid of how the sky fell and no one stopped.
What I’m trying to say is, I’m sad.
After so much time within my trauma disorders, it’s almost a strange relief to just be sad. To know this isn’t an arm of depression, slinking sneakily over my shoulder with a yawn. This isn’t the first second of a sloppy dive down a spiral of stairs.
This is just a small sad.
Something to let in, and then, when it’s ready, let go.
When I close my eyes, my breath stops, and my heart sinks like it needed the wind of vision to set its sails anywhere but down. Inside the boat is a fish tank, an increasingly-heavy smaller ocean that has been aching to open to the sea.
What I’m trying to say is, this is necessary.
The let go. The let in. The breath hold. The breath give. The sailboat and the sinking, and the storm and the kitten all.
My body is a tiny universe, constantly in the making, and sometimes stars fill my eyes, and that is the work of it. Sometimes, a sad blooms like a flower in the dead of space, and letting it live its cycle is the work of it.
Today, I praise the work.
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P.S. I’m having so much difficulty with the new editor giving me a warning message and then not allowing me to save the post. Is anyone else having difficulty? What’s the trick?