Mute

She couldn’t describe what she was currently feeling, so she decided not to, and wrote as if she was somebody else instead. There was too much swirling around. Indeed, there was an initiator of this spiral. But that first emotional spark never lasted for very long, she knew that. She knew the longer she sat and ruminated, that her thoughts would knit themselves into some kind of beautiful personality sweater she could wear for a little while. Until the sweater got caught on something else, and she’d have to either repair it or knit a new one.

The restlessness rose from her core. It came from somewhere inside of her where there were people she once knew, places she’d once been, groups she’d once engaged with. In a way she felt she was still in all of those places with all of those people, but was simultaneously in this room staring at a candle flame, grounded in who she was now. There was not a certain place she was going here. There was not a person she’d like to be here. There was not a pull or a draw to live a very specific life here.

Just a silent acknowledgment of the inner wars she’s fought, and the outer battles she’s survived… Of all the energies she’d picked up and thrown about, in an attempt to find truth. Now she was a quiet routine of seeding light into wooden floors day after day. The chaotic mental particles were unraveling, memories flashing in her chest. She placed her heart gently on her altar, proclaiming she was sorry she’d lost it. On her voyage for intimacy, she had let others play with it for too long.

She was aware now. In all the multidimensionality and complexity, and in the depths of her grief, she had forgotten that all she ever wanted to do was breathe. She could see the light beams connecting, bringing her chest back to life. The loud sounds echoed elsewhere. Her soul said a word.

She wondered if she’d ever leave her room again.