Chapter 2: In Bloom

I’m at a seat for one- A late night reminisce and smoke. I puff. Watching smoke billow past my eyes, drifting in the lamps light. This is the time for silence. The singing crickets dance, I hear. a burn from flying ash awakens me to the present, I sit. A seat for one. Why I emphasize the number of guests, I’ll tell you. ‘Cause it’s times like these I sit and muffle, ready for my head to burst. The avoided thoughts come racing in at once. Never waiting for their turn, crowding each other to be the one that comes in first. I sit, and I ponder the plithera of hums and bums of what should take place inside this human head, this tired mind. Wait your turn, I beg. And remind myself that tomorrow isn’t here and every step won’t come at once, but over time.

Or is it that I yearn for this silence? To sit alone and stew. A test to jolt me alive- wake up, I urge my avoidant mind clouding over the details of what is right in front of me. To purge through the web of lies, but punched in the face by my want for escape. How easy I think it is to avoid my reality, how easy I make myself believe it is to dance about flawlessly like a ballerina, act after act, whilst my toes bleed. So much effort to hide the pain, to avoid the truth. To go on day to day without acknowledging my spirits embrace of honesty or telling it, I love you. Is this why I sit in the shadows at my seat alone? I think it so. But do I take the bait I give, and head home- I guess this time will tell. I’m writing it so I’m assuming as well.

What is it that makes us dread being alone- How do we go on day to day doing the same thing? How is it we seem okay, routinely walking in the same steps as yesterday. How do you feel at night as you’re about to fall asleep? What are your thoughts? What do you do to cope with your pain? What is it you have taught yourself to believe, I ask myself. Aren’t we all the same? We live, we breathe, we work to pay the bills and keeps our homes, our children eating. We in kind think thoughts amidst our minds all day, and yet we separate ourselves from fear of pain. Pain that another may cause us to feel inside, too far down to where it’s as if we might not survive. Because comforting ourselves seems like the ultimate impossible task, so we blind the truth and betray our hearts with false reality. Say it! What is it you want? I plead inside. Searching. Sitting where no one can hear me, where no one can find me out. So why is it still so hard to be honest when no ears can hear the truth I shout?

I remember sitting on that stoop, dirt powdered on my pants while smacking skin exposed to thirsty bugs ready to quench for their meals. I talked to God, sun waving goodbye to another routy day, pines blackened in front of the receding fire in the sky. I layed my eggs in his basket, because trust I was good at giving, and he I never saw, but felt. I was there, but then I wasn’t. Lost in realms, off to my curious escape. My heart gaped open, always chatting with the things I never saw but felt. Always running away from feeling the pressures of guilt- Guilt I was given, guilt I built. I was there, then I was not. But I saw, and what I could see was farther reaching than what was- In essence, I was free. We packed up and drove home, down the hill back to our coop. And as I walked up to that door I’d grown accustom to, I stared so mesmerized by how my eyes could see. The entrance seemed alive, new life enlightened within me. I remembered how those bulby flowers bobbed and mocked me every step I passed them. But their purple hues rich with vibrant color kissed my tickled tummy, and blew their beauty, warm under my skin. Shall I stop here for a while, and gaze upon this new found anomaly? Why should I be so lucky to feel? How desperate I was to hold its cohesive frame and believe it something real. 5 years young I dawdled on, and played with my perception. Now I see it, now I don’t, and smiled inside to know I hold the key to how I want to perceive and how I don’t. The moment passed, and I walked through that loosened door. Effortlessly swept away from night’s of soiled sheets and crying to mom on the bathroom floor. Her tired hands, I remember, cradled my arms. And I built- again the guilt, unintended, arose from what was out of our control. The bulby bud bloomed and taunted again, but wasn’t it nice to see it once as it truly was? – This memory now triggered decades on, of that long forgotten friend. Her untethered soul’s song. Recalled from a spiralling madness, taking on too much. Scattered amongst vines tangled in attempts of control, over and under I go. How do I start to release the knot that created itself with what were good intentions?

I snap the buckle. You should know this already, I say, as I run to the next necassary task. Herd the children. Good morning, goodbye. Hello and Good night. Will you pick me up in the day? No, baby, not today. Flip the mat over to its cleaner side and sweep up the rinds toppled by my feet. Pull back the cup that did not suffice and drown in the parade of endless fires to suppress and feed, repatching the expectation, the unmet need. Sink into the seat where I feel most free, fingers tightening around the wheel like desperate leaches thirsty for blood to regain any youth I lost. Look down to the sprinkled bags and rotten food wedged barely hidden by the seat and door. I stare at it, front of my mother’s house, not the same but the memory rebirths itself into my mind. Hello old friend. It’s nice to see you again. So young I seemed then, looking back now. But I didn’t feel that way at the time. Who would have thought a 5 year old girl could teach herself how to love 20 years down the road? That’s right- because to love is to let go. To love is to be free.

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