The leaves are gone. The green is fading. Everything is rust and red. It’s an odd feeling being able to see distances I couldn’t during the lush summer months. Houses and roads are gradually being revealed. Secret spaces aren’t so secret anymore. The foliage has thinned. The hills have furrowed brows.
I mostly missed Halloween this year. And now Thanksgiving and Giftmas are creeping up on me. It will be nice to have a more permanent home again, where I can nest and create traditions.
I’ve dipped. I’m low. Is it the weather? Is it that things haven’t worked out the way I had planned this year? I’d like to think I’m flexible, but my energy is low and I am sad. It would be nice to feel safe enough to let go for a day. It would be nice to feel taken care of sometimes, not because I can’t take care of myself(I know I can), but because I’m deserving of it. I’m not sure that I am, but I’d like the illusion. I’m held together by a cracked eggshell, the armor is worthless, and it’s only a membrane holding it in place and giving the appearance that it is whole.
I wrote before about learning the difference between what I want and need. I need more golden light, soft words, and unsolicited kindness. And time. Let me hoard time in a drawer. Let me grow tougher and harder and sip time. Thorns last longer than petals.
I’m not crying for help. I’m just crying. I’ve been thinking about how different people approach their public personas, specifically when expressed through the internet. I feel a pressure to only be positive, barely personal, to chronicle just the pretty parts of my struggle. I’m overly edited. It’s not honest. Hurt and disappointment are equally authentic.