i’ll grieve you twice, at least (you’re still alive, but cannot(will not) see)
alone because of the art, alone out of radical (real) respect for autonomy (not lonely)
because it doesn’t look like anything you’d call love (no one is mine, owns me, that is the point)
not-coercion (oh the choices you’ll make, and to know one’s own best interest is luxe it’s wealth it is a steel backbone standing upright it is scar tissue it is soft like a bruise)
the person who survived (it was character work after all, and not me, us, but here we are alive, anyway and finally)
the choices i made will take time to recycle & remake, retrograde decades, that is continuing and now trusting in something else and more in sel(f//ves)
and when surface is not tolerable ever and the standard becomes you, it is diving it is comfort only to be felt when you return to yourselves at night curled into one side hands in fists holding soft or nothing, something you want to keep as weight on your heart to anchor you in dreamspace, it is deciding to be only skin and nerves and open and deeper, deeper, breathing, i will wait.
(patience)
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