Dear Diary,
The sun has been showing off and the dust is making everything wear her clingy earthy coat. From the books sitting at the corner of this room to the long eyelashes roaming out there. The mind is unsettled but the soul somehow has remained unbothered. It is a new place to find self. An odd place. Odd in a goodish way.
Time has slowly eaten away three months and a crucial piece of my soul found its way here yesterday. Sleep found a sincere smile plastered on my being. Rare sight. But an extra pair of trusted ears is always a mood.
I don't get why it is taking time but it is. The healing that is.
Personally. I'd like it to be done.
For poetry to return.
For emotional stability to get here fast.
For her much needed stay to this time last.
Then. I experience something and layers of what comes after the trigger unfold and drag me back to the ocean floor. Once there, I have to fight the same disheartening voices before the light finds me.
Before it does find me though, I indulge in gesticulating what can't scribbled and peddled for a few dollars on the chain or can't be expressed any other way. I sometimes laugh it out uproariously hoping to tuck away some of my pain as I free it from this spirit.
I fabricate the idea of happiness until a smile finds its way to my stony stoned face. I slow dance with trauma. I allow her to do retakes from my past experiences and I nod disgustedly as my inner critic takes me apart. Talk about irrigating inner wars and fueling self hate.
But I have also enjoyed the daily delicacies of being here and present. The little magical moments that filters out most of the pain thrown at me.
The right amount of the morning sun kissing my cold cheeks.
These books finding every tap that is leaks.
Tears finally drying up.
The wind soothing my sweating scalp.
My hair dancing to its breezy tap.
The healing magic that is warm hugs.
Ears that never whispered to the tongue how I nag.
Patient souls who've afforded my demons time.
Brave ones who want to stay until they are tame.
They say love can live here just like loathe.
The beauty is in the art of letting go.
Then boom, light.
The trick now is manning how many times I find myself on the ocean floor. Who or what is capable of pulling me under. The how long I stay sunken at any given time. Any trigger that can result in my drowning while in that state. Everything digested by an overthinker. Everything.
And this my virtual friends is all in search of the light. All in the hope of walking with light. Sigh. Signed, someone looking to outgrow the dark.
wambuku w.
