And so the cycle carries on, and soon it’s July, now August. Lead on by intervals of treatment, meagerly satiated by painting, waiting, waiting, waiting and waiting. So slow is this treatment, so quiet yet painful my awakening, just as blood aches back into a suffocated limb. How easy it is, really, and how earth-shatteringly hard to battle my demons; sometimes so hard I feel the foundations of what I know of myself quiver, and frightened, I slip away. There is no torment greater to me than an empty life, save except, taking actions that cause harm to good people, and so I am at a standstill. Was I serving my vanity to think I could know where to apply myself, when myself was what was most lacking? Out of context. A ghost in a shell, with a little beating heart of memory, a silent subtle sigh of reality, and so much space in between the little living part and the glassy facade. Through which is staring, waiting, and dreaming for the mechanical actions to ignite, in what seems like an almost insurmountable context.
I dream of letting the horses of my heart run free again. To where? I pray a safe place, I pray a happy place, I pray an honest one, too, and loyal to the Truth I’ve found. It’s Daddy Long Leg season - time to stretch out. I wasn’t meant to divide my life as it progressed. Better rather to build upon it, grow it, increase it in it’s relevancy to my inner being, develop it, and carry on.
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