Dear Diary,
I have peeked outside my bedroom window to ask May's morning fog for a break but my freezing feet tell me it might take a minute. The mind is scattered in small uncooperative groups and I am hoping writing can be the magnet that aligns everything.
The ears have discovered a vast world of good music. A remedy for those yearning to heal. The soul has always been one with rhythms and melodies. Vibrating to the core and with every poetic spill, my pains bleeds out. The pens have been prophesying the end of dark times and I can't wait for the weight of my decayed edges to shed itself off.
Cracks of light have been making their way to my darknesses' lair. Their rays have been dismantling my belief that I belong to the dark and now I am down on my knees praying to the keeper of my being that they manage to loosen the grip it has always had on me. Who knows if I can bottle the sun here and hug the moon over there for no one wants to live in a haunted house.
Blue smoke has been seen lifting off my cracked lips and once I had this twisted dream of turning myself into chimney in an attempt to drown the noise inside my head until I was reminded to let life love me. Anxiety would have a thousand reasons for why not now but I can feel my soul ready to be unburdened from whatever I have been running from.
Life has been known to dish out complex lessons that have seen me swallow my thorny pride a few times. But still I often stray and plan a few deadly comebacks before karma reminds my bitter self that that is her business. Continually learning how to be human without giving in to the animal I can be is a tedious task and among nature's most humbling ask.
I have existed waiting to live. I have paused my becoming. I have watched myself sink into chaos without a fight. I have craved to be wanted by people who wanted nothing to do with me. People who stirred love here then drastically exited. I have gotten lost in an imaginary forever. I have my share of flaws and lows.
I have been loved on sincerely. The kind of love that leaves one stomach in knots when its not filled with butterflies. I have gotten hooked on tea whilst I sprinkled whatever is left of my heart here and there like glitter.
Time has taught that the birthing process doesn't end for anyone me included. Fate would have me seated in the first row to witness each and every one of my rebirths. Each painful and heartbreaking but worthy to behold. Each forcing to wonder who my former self was while leaving a better version of me. Growth is the liberating even as it is uncomfortable.
I have dared to synchronised my essence with that of mother earth. I have allowed the wind to caress my invisible scars the same way it blows over land. The warmth of the sun has sat on my skin one too many times and the moon was shone on my disturbed self during the unending nights.
Send me a sign. I had whispered onto the blue heavens long before my tears found comfort in my pillows. How I am still here is still a mystery but I would blame evolution. And this overwhelming rush not to settle for miserable comfort and mediocre.
background image from pixabay... edited with ps express.
wambuku w.
