I am

EditedI have always been around. At the beginning you accepted me without question. You felt me in the pearly laughter that bubbled from your soul when you discovered something new. You felt me in the boldness of your curiosity. You saw me in the loving eyes of others; warm and oozing like golden honey dripping from the comb.

But you lost sight of me. It happened so slowly that you never noticed. Like a bud feeling the coolness of the night air, you closed your leaves one by one.

I sent you many signs that I was still around; with loud cries and subtle hints. But it wasn’t time for you to notice me. Your eyes were always focused ahead, waiting for that moment where I would show myself and give you what you dreamed of.

For I am…the dull throb pulsating at the back of your head, knocking at your door urging you to open.

I am the gurgles, the flips, the flops, the butterflies fluttering inside your stomach.

I am the hunger that eats at you from the inside, gnawing and biting.

I am the tingling on your skin, your scalp, the vibrations constantly changing, but always there.

I am the smoothness of the dirt nestled beneath your bare feet.

I am the twists, jerks, pulls and rhythmic vibrations your body makes when you hear the beat of the drum.

I am the uplifting sounds that elevate you into another space.

I am the salty drops that drench your face when you feel pain.

I am the heaviness that rests on your shoulders.

I am the space between spaces.

Sometimes you feel me, embracing me like a knitted woolly cardigan hugs a shivering body. We nestle against one another, as you recognise the familiarity.

One day your confusion will pass…and we will merge back into one, when you will see that I cannot happen to you.

For I am…you.

 

 

About Anne Lane

A long time ago I dreamed about being a writer. I was seven. I wrote my first short story about a loved family horse which died. I began writing poetry for family members, including one for my grandfather who passed away suddenly when I was eight. I read it at his funeral. Since those many moons ago, I continued to write for myself; songs, journals, poems, essays. My writing was filled with thoughts and musings constantly shifting from dark and angry to whimsical and romantic, to wonderings about the world: life, death, love, spirituality, pain, family. My blog doesn't have a specific theme...it is a work in progress. I suppose my aim is to have a play with writing, get my thoughts, ideas and feeling out there and explore the world, people and thoughts. I hope I make you feel, think, laugh, cry and spur you on to peel your onion.
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