It doesn’t have to be beautiful
It doesn’t have to be significant
It doesn’t have to make sense now, then, or even in the future.
It doesn’t have to be profound,
It doesn’t have to be inspirational,
It especially doesn’t have to be buried,
Or stuffed,
Or jammed,
Or ignored.
It doesn’t have to be forgotten
And it doesn’t have to be winced at.
It doesn’t have to be a catalyst,
It doesn’t have to be packaged and wrapped
With a fancy ribbon.
It can be ugly sometimes,
And aimless sometimes,
It can make no sense and perfect sense,
It can feel like it was a lifetime ago and five minutes ago
It can bring you to your knees or spring you forward with hope and desire
It can be a heavy velvet read curtain.
One that can only be pried open by you lifting your hand and peeling away the mask of fabric.
Of stepping just one foot forward.
It can be the shadow that you now know how dark its corners can get.
To know how deep that bottomless hole can actually go.
Knowing what the gravity despair not only looks like, but feels like.
Because to feel it is to know it exists.
To know it exists means you know the limit of it.
Of you.
To know what the blackest of night feels like in your body also means the surrender of morning’s first ray of sunlight has never been so sweet.
Thank you for sharing. I wish I could bottle the feeling I had reading this and use it as a nightlight 🌃