How brave you must be, to set fire to yourself, unsure if you will rise from the ashes.

How does new life spring from the charred remains of a forest ? How do I become better without killing an old way of thinking ? How could the sun, our planet, and the entire solar system come to be without the death of an ancient star ?

Death is inevitable yet impossible. Ordinary yet extraordinary. We grow only to die, and we die in order to continue growing. Energy can only transform: endings are always beginnings.

Death is not just a paradox, but an illusion. One can die several times in one's life, and in fact, must do so. The phoenix doesn't rise without first burning to ashes. Perhaps some logic and poetry to help explain ?

It's absurd... It's real life... It's devastatingly beautiful, like a supernova. A star has died, but it's not gone. A star once giving light and warmth in its small corner of the universe, had to come to an end. But its material isn't lost, it eventually forms new stars that give warmth and light to new planets. Everything you see in our solar system, from the smallest cells and bacteria to the biggest planets and our sun, are all thanks to (at the least) a single ancient star. Every atom on this earth, including you, was created within an incredibly bright, blazing ball of nuclear fusion. That "dead" star is still burning bright, just in a different way. The 13th century Persian poet Rumi once wrote, "We are stars wrapped in skin, the light you are seeking has always been within."

How do we find the stars? By waiting until night. The sun goes down and leaves the world cold and dark, but this is the only way to reveal the universe. One of the greatest treasures is looking at a completely dark night sky. The amount of diamonds you find is uncountable. Likewise, my light inside can't be found without first finding darkness. Within that darkness, pain, suffering, and isolation lie waiting.

The most defining moment of my life is when I decided to meet a part of myself who needed to die. I found myself writhing on the floor in the darkest part of a moonless night. Time couldn't have crept slower. Skin on fire, muscles unable to relax, a foreign substance seeping from every bone at an agonizing rate. The carpet was soaked from the tears that couldn't stop falling. From terrible choices I had made, I lost connections with friends and family. My partner at the time was fast asleep on the bed, high as hell, and unconcerned with what I was going through. I was truly alone, swallowed whole by despair, only befitting that it was under the cover of darkness. I thought my life was over. I assured myself that this pain would never subside, and I knew no one would be coming to save me. How badly I wanted to give up. How badly I wanted to give in and taste that bitter poison once again, to put an end to this suffering. But I knew that would only prolong it. I never felt more worthless. Hopeless thoughts of death were all I could think about as I was convinced my life would end that night. Turns out I was right, because I did die. The no-good, addicted, thieving, not-good-enough-to-be-a-father, loser lay motionless on the floor, nothing more than a pile of ashes glowing dimly in the pitch dark room.

I refused to give up. I refused to continue the life I was living. I said it out loud, I told myself "NO!" That I would NOT give up. The room got brighter. I said it again, tears streaming down my face once more. I remembered how I came to this abyss willingly to set myself free. This is what I wanted, I knew it would get to the point of great suffering, but it was necessary to kill what was hindering my growth. I reassured myself that it was better than a life of addiction, that I would get my friends and family back, that I would get myself back. I would have my son in my life and he would be proud of me, my grandmother who passed would be proud of me, I WILL BE PROUD OF ME. What was once a dense, pitch black room now seemed as bright as dawn. It was still middle of the night, but I could see the entire room unaided. The air was lighter, I could breathe easily again. I inhaled deeply, and exhaled forcefully towards the pile of ashes, sending them adrift. And from those ashes, a new fire was born.

I felt brand new. I felt like I was glowing, illuminated from a new star being birthed inside. Just like the sun or a phoenix, both rise from the dead, and both burn brightly. Death is only an illusion. I was there, I absolutely died that night, but here I am telling the tale and stronger than ever before. Only through the depths of despair and suffering can the astonishing light of your own being truly surface. Whether you find a star or a phoenix, it will be your source of will power burning so brightly that nothing external could extinguish it.

The word death gets such a bad rap because of the pain attached to it. But as I conquer it in my everyday life, it brings me no fear of my last day on this planet. As my phoenix rose from the ending of who I once was, so will it rise from the ending of my life here. As a new star ignites from the remains of an exploded star, why would my death be any different ? As above, so below. Energy can only transform.

So you see, death is nothing but transformation. A simple illusion made fearful by the unknown. There is no such thing as nothingness.

There's a boy standing in front of me

Navigating life without a cheerer

Who in this world can help him feel free?

People pleaser, but neglects his needs

His intentions never sincerer

This boy stands anxious in front of me.

Loneliness is his most feared disease

Another's attention the curer

Who in this world can help him feel free?

Peace; a flower. Solitude the seed.

Through the dirt, sunlight drawing nearer

This boy is growing in front of me.

As without, so within - the light he seeks.

Realizations become clearer

Who in this world can help him feel free?

Sometimes alone, lonely he'll never be.

And as I stare into this mirror,

There's a man standing in front of me

Who found within, the world which sets him free.

Jake leaps over the spring surrounding the cottage. He tiptoes, trying to avoid crunching leaves that still litter the yard from last autumn.

He arrives at the door and places his finger on the doorbell. Pressing down, -bing- the spring inside presses back, -BONG!- and echoes throughout the walls of the solitudinarian's home.

Startled, Henry springs out of his recliner, "hooray! Company!" And with a spring in his step, rushes towards the door.

He opens to find nobody. Excitement turned disappointment.

"I need to fix that damn doorbell. Spontaneously rung again." Or, as Henry likes to call it, "Sprung."

There's no way.

I look right, sheer wall. I look left, same thing. With my last ounce of hope I turn around, and what I find is an overwhelming sense of confusion, as if I was expecting a magic escalator out of this canyon. Stomach free-falls to my knees. Heart starts pounding in my throat. Legs go limp and I collapse into the dirt, narrowly missing a cactus. What was once an inkling of hope has now deteriorated into full blown panic. With fists clenched I start to hyperventilate; breathing as fast as my heart is beating. This is it. This was my last mistake in this life. I should have never rappelled down here. Tears disappear into the sand as I continue to gasp for air. I stare at the sky, thinking it will be the last time I see that beautiful blue.

It's intensely hot in this desert, but I start feeling cold. The lack of oxygen from shallow breaths dwindles my fire inside. Despair helps to weaken the flame by attrition. But before it finally goes out, something inside tells me to check again.

"What?"

"CHECK AGAIN! How dare you give up so easily!" Like I just smacked myself in the face.

My breathing starts to return to normal, tears have stopped falling, and the pigment returns to my palms as I release my clenched fists. I dry my eyes to take another look at my cage, but these walls may as well be glass. My rope hangs down 200 feet but I don't have the strength or the tools to climb back up it. With rock climber's eyes I scan again, searching for any possible route up.

Aha! There's hope after all! Hidden within the shadowy side of the canyon, two walls meet perpendicular to each other. A dihedral, off-width crack, possibly big enough to be a chimney. I must investigate further.

"Ok, deep breath." My strength returns alongside the fire in my soul. "I will not go down without a fi-- FUCK!" As I place my hands at my sides to help myself stand up, my left hand, at full force, slams into the cactus I barely missed when I collapsed. "MOTHERFUCKER THAT HURTS." I scream at the top of my lungs, then seconds later echoed back from the walls. Yelling that loudly made me feel even better, like I forcefully expelled the despair. Mumbling more swear words to myself, I remove the cactus spines. Once more I try to stand up, this time mindfully aware of the cactus.

Hand now throbbing, I make my way toward the dihedral. The closer I get, the bigger the crack gets. This looks like a chimney... even better. I feel so small as I gaze directly up the wall, but luckily I am the perfect size to fit into this off-width chimney and stem-climb my way up, the way I imagine Santa Claus gets back to his sleigh. I take my time inspecting every inch of the route, and I notice the chimney gradually gets more narrow towards the top. From my view, it looks like the narrowest part at the top will be my biggest challenge.

Heart starts racing again in anticipation. There's a weight in my stomach urging me to keep my feet on the ground, but I don't listen to it. This is the only way I can continue living, the only way I can see my family again. I reach down to grab a handful of dirt and rub my hands together to dry my sweaty palms. I wear my pack over my chest and tighten the straps, then commence my ascent towards freedom.

I am grateful this side of the canyon is shaded because it's made the sandstone feel much cooler to the touch, helping my hands stay dry. The chimney itself mysteriously makes its own wind current, but it's cooling me off. The beginning of this climb is wide enough to stem climb. My back rests on one side of the wall, hands pressed upside down next to my hips, and my feet smear vertically on the other side. To my right, the canyon, to my left, the dark slot of the chimney. I start inching my way up. This will help me conserve the arm strength I will need at the top. This type of movement is like a vertical crab walk; I place one foot above the other, use the counter-pressure from my hands to elevate my body, and then repeat, alternating my feet. I must always keep at least one foot on the wall at all times, otherwise I would fall face-first into the wall, and then straight to the bottom. I continue this trend upwards, the distance between myself and the ground ever growing. I only have my will-power to cheer me on. My left hand still hurts, but not enough to deter me from my goal.

With my eyes strictly locked forward, only looking at my shoes, I refuse to look at how far up I've made it. Instead I look up, and I'm met with a joyous fear as I see the width of the crack begin to shrink. Well, that must mean I'm almost to the top! And without thinking, I immediately look down to see how far I've come. The dizzying height makes me lose my focus, my hands instantly perspire and slip out from under me. My heart nearly jumps out of my chest as I scream in terror. I use the back of my head and shoulders to stop myself from falling further. I may have slid only a foot, but the shock itself made it feel like I was on my way to the bottom. Now I'm wedged in an uncomfortable position, with my head aching from smacking the rock, and a racing pulse in my throat. My feet sit well above my body with my shoulder blades and head pressed firmly against the opposite wall as my only lifeline. I hold back the tears, wipe these sweaty palms on my pants, and take a deep breath. I look out to my right and find the bright side; the view is lovely from up here. And my adrenaline has spiked to levels never felt before, giving me the high I need to continue.

I don't know how far it is to the bottom, but it wouldn't matter. It's far enough to remember every bad decision I've ever made on the way down. After I calm myself and remember my goal, I reassess the situation. I need to get my body back perpendicular to my legs. The only way is to dig my elbows into the rock behind me because my hands can't get enough traction from this angle. I push away the looming terror of there being nothing but 150 feet of air below me, ending in solid rock, and I focus on the 50-plus feet I have left to go. I clench my teeth, and yell loudly in pain as I use all my strength to get myself back to position. I can't see them, but I'm sure my elbows are now bleeding, like I painted a petroglyph that no one will see. I am out of breath. I want nothing more than to rest, but I can feel my strength fading. I must use this adrenaline boost before it wears off.

As I continue upward, I can't help but think how surreal a feeling this is; wedged between two monstrous rocks yet feeling like I'm floating on air. Death just one more slip away. If I could actually float, it would solve several of my problems. My knees are now pushing into the pack on my chest. This is as far as I go with the crab walk. I look up, and I guesstimate there's about 30 more feet to go. 5 more body lengths, not bad! I'm so close I can almost taste it, but I still have a long way to go. I feel incredibly scared, but almost proud of myself for how far I've come. No sense stopping now. I put my left foot under my hip, and push my body upwards, essentially standing up. I look down at my right foot, and see the only part gripping the wall is the toe. A scary sight as the drop looms beyond. I slowly bring myself back down to sit on my calf, and from this position, I can bring my right foot up to a more comforting spot. I'll sit here for a second.

I put my pack on the correct way, and after about a minute, I stand up again. The wind now blowing harder than it did on the ground. If only I had wings then I could ride this updraft to the top. Wish I had a Red Bull... No, stop daydreaming. For another 10 feet, I alternate my feet up the walls until I get to a point that is too narrow for my head. Now I will have to lean out over the drop. I felt safer stemming up between the walls. I'll be very exposed now. I summon all my climbing knowledge and decide that lie-backing will be the best technique. I will have to reorient my body the other way and walk my feet up the wall that my back has been resting on this whole time. Then I have to let my body lie back towards the floor of the canyon, with only my hands keeping me from the backwards free fall. Sounds like freaking fun.

My left leg starts shaking uncontrollably, known to climbers as the "sewing machine leg," felt when fear of the height outweighs the focus you should have on your body. This is not the time to have sweaty hands either. I just continue making the most efficient moves I know how to make, and eventually I forget about the leg, and it stops shaking. I place my right hand above my right foot, hoping the sandstone absorbs most of the moisture. Then, I point my left foot upwards and place my left hand above it, matching what I'm doing on the other side. I summon my inner Spiderman and pray that my feet don't slip out from under me. This is my crux: The hardest part of this entire ascent. I hold my breath. My back is facing the valley below, and in a desperate act of faith, I simultaneously fall backwards into the other wall and move my right leg opposite. Success. I can breathe again. Now for the real leap of faith. I slowly shimmy my feet out towards my left, and I inch my body towards the edge with them. With my left hand, I press my palm firmly on the wall next to my face. I turn my body so that I can use my right hand to grip the 90 degree edge of the crack; fingers pointing inside. I start to lie my body over the free fall as the sun pleasantly greets my face. Then gracefully bring my left hand beside my right. No time to waste, this expends a lot of energy. I find my sync and walk up the wall in rhythmic fashion.

15 feet to go. 10 feet... 5 feet... uh oh. I can finally see the desert carrying off to the horizon, but I seem to be stuck in this position. My feet are standing where I need to grab to pull myself up and out of this godforsaken hole. GODDAMNIT. My hands are starting to feel weak. I can feel them about to slip off at any second. Fuck it... I pull myself forward, and with my only attempt I stretch for the top of the cliff. My shoes give way to gravity, and as I begin to fall, my right hand catches on the edge. My whole body hanging on by one hand. I throw my left hand beside it, and do the only pull-up I ever want to do again. I lay there, legs still dangling off the edge, and I start to weep. I made it. I wipe my eyes, slowly stand up, and aim both middle fingers at what was once my prison. The place that could very easily have claimed my life. I never want to see a canyon again.

Mom,

I'm sorry, from the bottom of my heart, for the pain I've put you through. Your first born succumbed to the pleasures and tragedies of the world. I've been addicted to horrors. My heart has only known pain and disappointment in the face of love. I've had no choice but to make solitude my best friend. How terrible it is to watch your child suffer, unable to do anything for them. You taught me kindness, compassion, and empathy, so I know you've felt my pain as if it were your own. And knowing that breaks my heart even further. I promise it was never intentional. I hope you never know just how awful I feel knowing you've suffered because of my actions.

I've gotten through unspeakable battles that you will never know about, but understand that I have become stronger because of them. I am wiser and even more compassionate from those things, and it is from your example that I was able to emerge from hell with even more love and empathy for the world. I hope that makes up for all the pain and tears that have fallen because of me. I hope you understand the love I feel for you even though you couldn't be there to help me or hug me when I needed it most. I cry every night hoping you don't hate yourself because of that. My son, your grandson, will be stronger because of it all. All because of you. I love you so much.

Love always,

James

Sunny finally stops, "Ok, we'll rest here for the night," immediately followed by three heavy sighs of relief. "April, find water. Amber, start a fire. Eira... find us some dinner."

As Amber and April were about to shuffle off, Eira, visibly weak, drops to the earth, close to death as you can get from exhaustion. "I can't move another step, we've been walking all day."

"Eira, we're all in this together, we each need to do our part. The longer you sit, the harder it will be to get back up. We will be OK." Sunny's deep blue eyes gazed just as deeply into her soul. While fiercely intimidating, they would instill confidence in even the most unmotivated individual. But Eira is more stubborn than most.

"What's the point... nothing survives in the end anyway," she mutters, unsurprisingly woeful.

"Why do you always have to be the pessimist, Eira? You know Sunny hates it." April retaliates, defending her older sister.

"She's right, you know." Amber says as she picks up a piece of wood off the ground, "and for the record, I'm not being pessimistic."

"What do you call it then? Sure doesn't sound optimistic."

"It's called being realistic," she calmly replies, pulling out her pocket knife.

April must've never heard this word before, because she fails to respond and then looks towards Sunny for help.

Sunny rolls her eyes, "ok, Ms. Realist, how do you realistically propose we save mom?"

Amber had already started whittling the piece of wood she found. She remained silent for a few moments, then slowly looks up at Sunny, and dodges the question. "I thought you were the leader... what's your plan?"

Unaffected, Sunny beams with confidence, "by working together. Which reminds me, can you please start the fire?"

With a glare from her sage green eyes, Amber turns around and disappears into the dark, mumbling to herself, "yeah, yeah... that's not even a very specific plan..." Amber knows she is more the type of person to take someone else's ideas and improve on them, rather than make a new plan from scratch. She saves that kind of creativity for her artwork.

Sunny reminds April to find water, and after some direction, she heads towards the sound of a creek. April really looks up to her older sisters. She wishes to be just like Sunny, and she looks up to Amber if only to know how to be the opposite. Blue eyes, but a lighter shade than Sunny's; curious, growing strong, and with plenty of life still to see.

Then there's Eira. Eyes so dark brown that they look black if not exposed to direct sunlight. She is the oldest, and arguably the wisest. She's experienced so much loss that her outlook on life has become extremely cold and bitter. One would think the influence of Sunny's bright soul would help, and maybe it does, but she doesn't show it.

She finally found the energy to look for food, and about 20 feet into the darkness, to her delight, stumbled upon a ripe raspberry bush, making her task quick and easy.

They can all finally relax around the warmth of the fire. With bellies somewhat full from the fruit, they stare blankly into the dancing orange flames. No energy to bicker anymore, the minute differences in pitches of the crackling wood acts as music to combat the silence.

Eira sits alone further away from the flames than the rest. Amber sits cross-legged hard at work whittling at a safe distance from the others. April and Sunny sit together, with April's head at rest on Sunny's shoulder. They know what comes tomorrow, but for now, enjoy this moment together.

Sunny begins to hum a tune in hopes of increasing the overall morale. She hopes to create a sense of peace before the looming storm on the horizon.

(note: this is in relation to Spring, Summer, Fall, and Winter in the northern hemisphere, as I understand it would be the opposite for the southern half. I may pursue this to be a proper short story or even book. Thanks for reading!)

Wake up to a hurricane in my gut, don't want to open my eyes, but there's no chance to sleep in as my never ending worries demand attention. My mind races against itself as if the track were a Möbius strip; a never ending loop, balanced between what I should and shouldn't have done, and ending back where I started in the first place. So much to do, so much left unsaid. Internet bill due... damn, I should've said that to her instead... more bills... I forgot to get milk last night... Dishes are still there... Electric bill overdue... Need to shower for work later... My God... So much to do. So much left to say.

Ok... laying here treading water in this stormy sea of thoughts doesn't help anything. I will end up drowning. If it's in the past, it can't be changed. Or, if it hasn't happened yet, worrying doesn't help anything. I rub and open my weary eyes, slowly sit up as my bed pressures me to lay back down. No. If I don't get up now, I never will.

Before I can stand up, I am greeted by my son, who's been watching me from the crack in the door to see if I was awake yet.

"Can you make me pancakes?" Of course my buddy.

"Can you transform my Bumblebee? I forgot how to do it." Ok, one minute please. Followed seconds later with, "Can you help me do this puzzle? It's my favorite." and continuing, "I broke my Optimus Prime, can you please glue it?" Yes. "I saw Lola (our cat) outside chasing the birdies." Cool, did she catch one? "Not yet ... Why do kitties like to chase birdies?" Before I can answer, "Can you make me waffles?" I thought you wanted pancakes??

Every sweet, high-pitched word that leaves his mouth are said with the most pure intentions. Pure unfiltered thoughts and curiosity. I remember when all I wanted was for him to talk, but this morning the words become increasingly piercing to my ears, as if I developed tinnitus overnight. I snap. "Dude! Can you please give me 5 minutes of silence!?"

I immediately flood with regret. Add it to the already overwhelming weight of anxiety. He's only 4, and the word 'silence' is not in his vocabulary yet. I'm a piece of shit.

"I'm sorry, Iroh. I didn't mean to yell at you. Daddy didn't sleep very good, and sometimes daddies just really like when it's quiet for a little bit."

Visually sad eyes respond "ok."

I can't stand myself. He was only waiting patiently for me to wake up so he could talk to his dad. I'm the worst father ever. The best thing I can do next is give him a big hug, kiss on the forehead, and start making his pancakes. Or was it waffles?

Throughout the next 15 minutes of cooking breakfast, my mind cycles through everything I need to do today. Big and small, each one accompanied by its own level of anxiety. Overwhelmed is an understatement as I stare blankly at the bubbly pancake batter on the griddle. I hear from the next room, "Don't burn the pancakes, Dad!" He's too damn smart. Thank you for reminding me buddy. Without his reminder, this batch would have most assuredly been burned. It's the strangest feeling being unable to move from so much going on inside my head.

We sit at the table and eat our breakfast. His questions keep on coming, and I slap a smile on my face and answer to the best of my abilities, simultaneously reminding him to eat his food, as that's my break between the queries. After we're done, I add the plates and utensils to the ever growing stack of dishes, I direct him to the couch and put on one of his favorite shows, "Bluey." I actually enjoy this show, I could watch it without him, and actually have. But I can't watch with him this time. I tell him I need to go outside for a little bit but I will be back. He acknowledges while eyes glued to the screen.

I step outside barefoot. The morning sunlight greets me warmly through the old cottonwood trees standing proudly to my left. Limbs still bare, but I see leaves beginning to bud. The air is still chilly with a slight breeze from the southwest, but it's the sunlight that makes the hairs on my arms stand up. I don't regret being in a t-shirt and boxers. No neighbors around anyway. First order of business is a deep breath. A heavy sigh of relief at the serenity of my front yard. A deep inhale of the smell of spring within the clean mountain air, and an even deeper exhale as if I'm releasing every last worry into the atmosphere.

I love this place. Birds happily singing in the treetops, like they were mocking my cat that she couldn't climb up to get them. I bet she could if she wanted to. She greets me as well, rubs her sun-warmed fur firmly along my legs, and I reach down to stroke her long, peach-colored fur in return. The sounds of her purring, the singing of the birds, the light breeze gliding through the bushes and trees harmoniously making its own original song. As calming as if 'Claire de Lune' were playing.

It's only me here in this present moment. No thoughts intruding on this pleasant solitude. My gaze directed towards the immeasurably big snow-covered mountains straight ahead, but my awareness is more of a floodlight in this moment. My eyes towards the front, but my vision only limited to the farthest extent of my peripheral.

To my left: Budding rose bushes, 15 200-year-old Cottonwoods and Willows, starlings changing branches every few seconds and twittering in conversation with the others. Lola exploring, the sun demanding attention through the trees, and the small town waking up in the distance.

To my right: More trees budding, these ones being younger, and shading my son's swing set. The closest house 2 miles away, blue and standing out from the distant hills and dark green forest. Clouds beginning to take shape against the deep blue sky, as if the owners of that house wanted to match the morning horizon.

All this within my present awareness. All this while staring forward at the mountains, with a clothesline in the foreground, holding the clothes I forgot to bring inside last night, and all the rolling hills and distant trees in between.

I can see every color without moving my head or eyes. Hues of red within our clothes and stained in the rocks and dirt scattered throughout. Orange is my cat, and the shirt hanging that my parents got me from Hawai'i last year. Yellow is the sun. Green is the grass and weeds growing back from winter, as well as the buds on the trees signaling spring. Blue is the sky and house to the west. Indigo is the sky surrounding the sun, a lighter hue than the darker horizon to my right. And Violet is harder to find, but it's there. From my view, the mountains appear violet where the snow doesn't touch. White, black, and grey everywhere else.

This is my peace. This is my happy place: The present moment within nature. When things get too overwhelming, I go outside, whether under the sun, the overcast, or the stars, and I breathe in the quiet serenity of nature that is unbothered by our worldly concerns.

I hear the door open behind me; my son asking what I'm doing. I calmly reply "I'm just getting my quiet time, buddy. I like to listen to the birds and watch Lola. I like to sit here with my feet in the dirt and listen."

Confused, he asks, "why you doing that?"

With a gentle smile I say, "One day you'll learn."

And feeling renewed, we head back inside to sit and watch some Bluey together.

Fearless fractals influenced from afar.

Lovers' timeless luxuries, lustfully alluring.

Olfactory openly joyous, aromas obligatory.

Real peace, serene. Reverence revealed.

Amiable, admirable, and arguably articulate.

Better climb up outta that hole before you fuck up your blessins,

'fore you realize it's over with and start to get desperate.

Only aggressive 'cause the power ain't directed.

Fire in your eyes diminished by the will of the oppressive.

The greatest, the latest mogul... you know what time it is.

This that 'come back to life' shit,

Light the city up as if the sun had the night shift.

Like, "that's right, fight's on bitch!"

Optimistic like Optimus, we ain't even reach our prime.

Enlightenment from a low-life that's more than likely high,

Proceed to the next level - separate the real from the lie

you can reach into your pocket while I reach into my mind.

Knowledge of self is like life after death.

The balance is evident - Avatar never out of my element.

I did it all and never really broke a sweat

I'm aiming so far they can't tell what I'm shootin at.

Yeah, I miss you. My ears now hollow, once filled with the sounds of your real laugh, every word that was spoken with passion, and the way you sang all your favorite songs. My heart aches so bad because at one time it sang for YOU like that. Did my voice ever captivate you too? I wouldn’t know.

My skin, now afraid to be touched. Longing for your soft kisses and gentle touch: only comparable to a snowflake, quietly melting when it meets my face. Lips sweeter than my favorite dessert. My nose, longing for your floral perfumes that would take me to the middle of a meadow in spring. Were you able to teleport simply by indulging in me too? Your actions say otherwise.

I miss the galaxy in your blue eyes, staring just as deeply back at mine as if we were the only two in the universe. Lethal doses of oxytocin from the security of your arms locked around my waist and head nestled perfectly under my chin. But deep down, anxiety calls my name. Is she being sincere? Am I a fool blinded by lust, giving every last atom of my heart with no reciprocation?

I can’t shake the feeling that you are only staring at somebody I’m not. Only holding so tightly to this false idea of me. Hearing only what you want to hear. Your words, your body, your time all given to somebody who exists only in your mind. How horrible a feeling. I’m not good enough. The person I’ve worked so hard to be, overlooked and thrown away like a diamond mistaken for glass.

Out of the corner of my eye, my notebook. The cover reads “Wonderlust & Wanderlust,” and now covered in dust. Memories flood in. How many situations have those pages helped me through? Every single one of them. Never failed to be there to help clear up my thoughts. Between those lines I can escape yet understand reality. How could I forget? How could this one woman, as great as I think she is, cause me to neglect myself and one of my greatest sources of joy?

I let go, ask her politely to let me be alone, and I dive into the pages and read everything I’ve written thus far. Nostalgia floods in as I hold this generic number 2 pencil. I begin to write, and page after page flows like a reservoir that finally broke through its dam. There’s smoke coming from my pencil, pages are setting fire. I capture my deepest thoughts and concerns, I contemplate why I feel so anxious in this relationship, why fear has taken root where my self-love used to be. The truths I discover are harder to swallow than a bowl of rusty nails with no milk. And at the same time, I’ve never felt better in all my life. With a sigh of relief, I reread what I had written:

“What a deadly feeling it is to fall heart-first into a space next to someone incapable of loving me the way I deserve. And how terrible it is to find it difficult to walk away from such a person.”

“I ignored my intuition telling me how absurd it is to beg for my love reciprocated.”

“How stupid I feel, thinking someone cared for me as much as I did. How stupid it is to make excuses for them for why they chose to not see my beauty, why they chose to not put in the effort I did.”

“She never encouraged me to do what I love.”

“The anxiety sunk in when I realized I had to shrink myself to make her more comfortable. It sunk in more when I had to desperately search for her authenticity and couldn’t accept never being able to find it.”

“I gave her every ounce of my love, and she took it like a hot desert takes water, with nothing in return but harsh lessons.”

“et cetera…”

I could write 100 more paragraphs of the words I wrote that day. But the main message I found myself was to listen to my intuition, be my true self, love myself in the way I choose to love others, and never settle for anyone who makes me become less than I already am. She may be gone, but the lessons will always remain. I used to be afraid of losing her. Now I’m more afraid of losing myself by staying in something that’s not right.

So, do I still miss you? I miss certain things, sure. Nothing that I couldn’t get from someone else. You chose not to see my beauty, or the light I offered. You never tried dancing with my demons. I lost a rose in a field of roses, I’m looking for that one sunflower standing proud within that field.

My world was fine before you and it’ll be fine without. I can’t thank you enough, I am back perfecting my art, this time with a whole truckload full of new inspiration.