Hand to heart, breathe and be.
The past year and a half, almost two years, has taken its toll. I see that, today, reflected in the mirror. But really? I don’t need glass covered with metal amalgam to show me true form. I feel it.
Anxiety and sorrow have etched my heart, and the subsequent stress has added pounds to my frame. Allow me this quick dip in the pool of self-loathing, and then a hop back out. Habit energy, how funny it repeats itself, even now. And yet, and yet, and still again… time’s winged chariot wouldn’t wait for Marvel and his love. Why would it wait for me?
Loving myself as I am, or trying to: I’m not deluded, nor do I doubt that this body of mine is anything but a rounded, aching miracle. I’m not a disciplined person in anything other than affairs of the heart, and I live too much in the sensory of now. I live and love fully.
I can’t think too much ahead, but I can breathe in this quiet moment. And here’s what is clear to me:
I won’t apologize, even with the discomfort of living in my own skin. I won’t apologize, even though I fear what’s ahead. I feel the upcoming months like a prickle on my skin, a ghost story waiting to be told. And I won’t apologize because I know in my heart of hearts that the magic is deeper, something beyond this shallow corporeal form.
We need to be present for the people we love. We need to be present as we are—flaws and all, fear and all, full form and all. 💞