my drifting fingers are dragging tracers through the air where nothing can touch me now— it’s peaceful, this brilliant dark. an endless cocoon. safe, warm, limitless. “have you ever felt so held?” i want to tell you you’re beautiful, the part of me that feels sweet things. her soft eyes. i can’t hear the others, they don’t matter right now. i can just drift and enjoy this slow twilight honey. i hope you’re alright. i hope you’re thriving. you deserve that, and i say it with my whole chest. doesn’t matter if there’s venom where a chapel stood. for as much as it has mattered, it doesn’t.

i’m surrendering here, held open for that moment, the cut into light. watching her fingers knotted in gold, cat’s cradle become noose. i think she wants to let go, i think she’s afraid that it will hurt more. a finality she’s rebelling against. but what are you holding onto? it’s already hurt plenty, you can take a bit more. it’s all temporary. … unless it isn’t. what if that really was it. well you accept it because you have to move forward, because the gun to your head is their well-being against the war clock in your mouth. but you don’t have to tear it down and dig your fingers into healing wounds to let it go. the blood is old, not ugly. so much of it was so good and you are unquestionably better for it. (people don’t exist to be your experiences.)

so, little girl, what is all that distance protecting you from? what is your objectivity muting so you don’t have to feel it? that, “intellectually you understand” what has to happen while you do the thing where you go through the motions and ignore the wound as it throws up shit you still have to deal with? are you being honest with yourself? -truly? yes. you can feel pain, grief, and still sincerely wish them well. that isn’t dishonest, it isn’t even contradictory. you are already moving forward, and you are inevitable. do you understand? healing takes time and i have to be patient with that. there is nothing to hide in this truth.

that’s the big simple. i have to develop patience. there’s still some part of me rebelling at the notion, somehow. that’s so hilariously, insultingly counterproductive. christ, girl. start making those moves, she will dissolve like sugar in water. she is not strong enough to stop you, you will have your success. this is not a zero sum equation, just keep cutting through your bullshit to the bones of honesty. be smart, be deliberate, be considerate. but you have to slow down.

you have to slow down. you’re afraid of your spirit getting older. i get that. i get that. we all hit those milestones, if we’re lucky. but you get to do it consciously. you get to make the decision to adapt consciously. but you’re great even without that. you exist and you’re okay. you’re really fucking okay. okay? and i’m saying that with my whole chest. you beat yourself up a lot. you really do. it always feels wrong to say so, right? you feel like you’re not doing enough. like you’re failing to reach some standard set by a stranger a lifetime ago, but that’s a broken meter built by a broken child and you’ve grown so goddamn much.

i am proud of you, you know? you never stopped. you’ve done your best to be consistent, i know you’re putting in work to fix the things you can control and learning to control the rest. the progress you’ve made is incredible, even if no one else ever sees it. you are so good, and i’m not your ego feeding you bullshit. i feel your urge to cripple it with unnecessary humility, it’s strong. but no. no, you don’t need to downplay any of this. i am fucking proud of you because you earned it. i watched you work backwards from agony to untangle and reclaim all those golden threads and weave them one at a time back into my chest. because of you, i am light.

I will always be worth saving.