self compassion,  writing

waiting

These day feel slow and fast ticking. Like a collision of breathlessness and endless waiting.

Waiting in the distance between spaces of who we will become.

Waiting for

Who I will become again and who I will be anew.

 

 A small pile of weeks to keep me company. A small pile of worries to dissolve. To hide under. Unless. I take the time to face them like old friends, lean close and comfort them at my bones.
 
 I cleave to this time as much as I wish it away. I want the new and the familiar all in one. I try not to be too excited but I can’t help it. There is so much possibilities wanting to be held.

 
 I don’t know where to focus my energy these days but it feels like it should be in the flesh and blood realm.

I feel bodily. Like the body is my link back to life again. Like I am alive again.

 

A song of praise and doubt coursing through my veins.

My palms are empty and full all at once.

I am waiting

& learning to hold generously to all that I can.

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