savior
Upon finally trusting my life enough to have a journal, and one not kept under lock and key at that, I've come to realize I'm quite terrible at using one. A skill I never developed maybe, or another symptom of my incurable affliction where I waste away in my desire to do something and never actually doing it.
I remember I got new pens.
They're from someone I don't consider to care about me very much, but is kind all the same. What can you expect from your grad student voice therapist? Certainly not a care package in a gift box. Complete with Skittle gummies recalled for having trace amounts of scrap metal inside.
I've become, or perhaps returned, to the green child I could have become. I know I am not the original me, and I am not the me from two months ago (or by now perhaps three). I am somewhere between a curious blend of new and old, and for some reason I cannot speak my truth to anyone but myself. He is never far from me because I am him, where I know his torch burns in my hand until the fire consumes me and we trade places in a strange dancing machine. A two-sided mirror, to live as a ghost comfortably haunting myself.
It is almost like a dragon, I think as I stare at the wall-mounted treasures the beast has gathered. It has plastered its heart from the floor to the ceiling, the foolish, sentimental thing.
How charming.
This summer brings peace to the both of us. I need not know why I exist, but instead only that I can trust as far as I am trusted. This is how I will play my days, with a light heart.
Today, under the most troublesome circumstances, I met Cellophane.
I don't know a thing, and to live is to discover, to find out. I will trust the ways that this torch has lit before. And now, it lights my heart.
I have become simple.
entry archived.