I had to get away, to a place that was not mine but that I could lend for a few days. Away to get closer, move to reach stillness. How ironic life can be at times. In the eye of the storm it is quiet.
The silence speaks in a different tone in places that do not belong to us. In the places that are ours, if we are lucky to have these, we hear must dos and should haves, but in places that do not belong to us these whispers do not adress us, we might not even hear them.
When will my skin be thick enough so that your words do not get to me, penetrate into my very core and tell me that, yes, I am wrong and have been wrong and guilty all along? When will I have distance enough to be my own, to validate myself and not need your approval? When will I be able to say stop and no, no further than this, and hold my ground without the tremendous anxiety keeping me awake at night until I take another pill? Will you ever see me? Will we ever be reconciled? Or will we only meet in the tunnel of light?
Inhaling across the water, exhaling and letting go of what is not mine, exhaling and pushing away what has gotten too close to me. Listening to the trees growing, to the waves falling onto each other. Looking myself in the mirror, my face is strange, constantly changing. It does not matter. Walking behind you in the heat along the shore line, suddenly remembering I forgot it all, a refuge in oblivion if only for a brief moment.
More from this trip in the next post on Friday. 🙂