I want. At any given time. What I want. What feels good. For the moment. However fleeting. Sometimes. That's how I feel. Those moments though...the want ones. Are not as frequent. Intense. More fleeting pastel. Fantasies. Little fairies dancing in my head. Playing tricks of possibility on me. My flame, barely a spark. After thirty years in a profession that I used to love. Instead of myself. And now I love myself. More. Is there room for both of us in this new love that I found?
The first time I married. The man. I did not love. Not knowing that I couldn't love anyone. Not without loving myself. As I grew to begin to love. Begin to define it. Begin to give it. My husband, yet to be, who I thought and never was. Decided that I was unloveable. I wanted. So much. To have. A happy home. To be loved. Unconditionally. By him. My children. My mother. My someone...anyone. Then it ended. Whatever it was. Abruptly. No thirty day notice. On the door, or in the mail, or by messenger. Pigeon.
Sad. How. You can want something...without really knowing what it is. Or what having it. Entails. I want. Something. To be comfortable. In my own skin. Home. Life. Soul. To want it so bad that I can stand it. I can't though. Fleeing. Into those pixie villages in my head. Prancing amongst the stars. Extraterrestrial lilly fields. Where I can't gauge. Location, placement. They fade into the distance of my faraway past. Nothing. Do I have to hold on to.
I think of rest. A place. To lay my head and sleep for days on end. Waking refreshed. And.
Knowing.
The first time I married. The man. I did not love. Not knowing that I couldn't love anyone. Not without loving myself. As I grew to begin to love. Begin to define it. Begin to give it. My husband, yet to be, who I thought and never was. Decided that I was unloveable. I wanted. So much. To have. A happy home. To be loved. Unconditionally. By him. My children. My mother. My someone...anyone. Then it ended. Whatever it was. Abruptly. No thirty day notice. On the door, or in the mail, or by messenger. Pigeon.
Sad. How. You can want something...without really knowing what it is. Or what having it. Entails. I want. Something. To be comfortable. In my own skin. Home. Life. Soul. To want it so bad that I can stand it. I can't though. Fleeing. Into those pixie villages in my head. Prancing amongst the stars. Extraterrestrial lilly fields. Where I can't gauge. Location, placement. They fade into the distance of my faraway past. Nothing. Do I have to hold on to.
I think of rest. A place. To lay my head and sleep for days on end. Waking refreshed. And.
Knowing.
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