I love him <no, I don’t really love him>
I don’t love him <but he sure has poured through some long uninhabited old cracks>
I love him as a friend <but it feels so incredibly comfortable, and familiar, and unassuming, and easy>
It has been too chaotic…intense! <What does that even mean? There you go again, trying to distill every real moment to its most fundamental units until it makes sense, in your coward attempt to numb yourself so you can go back to your self-induced slumber>
I don’t remember when or how it happened. I have been deceiving myself for some time now. How did I get here? Does it matter? Isn’t what matters what is, and what can be…
I want who I am to really be.
I’ve been shyly and desperately breaching the surface to gasp for air. I heard somewhere that humans need air, but my heart should be studied. I mean…my lungs.
That lovely air! Oh that loving air! It feels so soothing…so supple is my heart. I mean…my lungs.
I can’t imagine the vulnerability of my lungs as they expand and passively deflate with each breath.
I can’t believe the strength of my heart with each butterfly that is felt.
The cadence of the breath changes with the flapping wings.
Heart gently pounds…
I think I mastered the art of controlling my breath in these moments. Masking true expressions of vulnerability…of myself.
Lately, I have intermittently been letting go. I want all the flapping to happen. I want all the unsynchronized breath it causes. I delight in the vibrating skin over my left breast.
I have always been that being of pure spontaneity from the moment I left my mother’s womb.
Perhaps, even before.
Why have I been muffling myself?
I want the intermittence to become permanence. I want all its wonders, warmth, pain, bareness, ugliness, frailty, chaos, strength, truth, synergy…
I want its human-ness.
All this fragrant fluttering will kindly fan me awake from that wasteful slumber.