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Hannah Sep 2017
Entry ~
I know you're scared. You should be scared. You're taking a huge leap of faith leaving the only "home" you've ever known. But that home you built isn't four walls, and a solid tin roof. It's your soul. It's that thumping in your chest that keeps you awake at 2am. It's the memories you've stored, locked away tight behind steel bars, because god only knows if those bars weren't there those memories would hit you like the eye of a storm. Calm at first, sweet, but then painful, like shards of glass beneath your feet. And I know how much it hurts to leave. To walk away from so many unresolved things. To remove yourself from the lives of people you rely on, that rely on you. But part of living is knowing when to leave. It's knowing when your environment no longer suits the shell you're in. It's easy to tell when that chapter of your life begins. It starts with a slow depression easing its way in, and an unexplained restlessness. I know how much you fight it. The warning signs telling you it's time to go again. You are so afraid of being free, but your curiosity has its own needs. It was never a choice being free. It's always been a part of your destiny. I know you've felt that unexplainable presence easing your anxiety. And it's okay to breathe. It's okay to just be. To not know where you're going to be next spring. It's all a part of the plan. You need to have faith that those guiding you won't lead you astray. You are being protected, and I know you aren't religious, but when you feel like you've lost your way, fall to your knees, and pray. Look for the butterfly, and have faith that one small act of courageousness will set your life in motion. But you have to be willing to take action first. So flap your wings, and don't be afraid of the tornado that follows. You created your fear, and only you can survive in the wake of it.
I wrote this letter to myself. I'm preparing to travel again. In a little less than a month, I'll be on the road to Oregon. I don't have much of a plan this time, all I know is it's time to go.
**
Hannah Aug 2017
We are weightless
to change shot
straight through our veins,
like ****** corrupts the holy,
we embrace pain,
and forget that love
is ours to give.
It's ours to give.
Hannah Aug 2017
I found a picture of you today
buried beneath the clutter
of seven years of pain.
I remember when it was taken.
You were so full of life that day.
I swear your smile
could have led boats
back to the bay.
I remember your presence,
and the way it felt
to hold your attention.
Those eyes
a raging fire
with a crystal clarity
meant only for the divine.
I swear you hold secrets
between the walls of time.
I can still hear you
when I whisper your name
over the rolling waves
of the lake,
your final resting place.
I swear when I'm there,
I can feel your hand
on my shoulder,
comforting me,
like a warm summer rain
on a beautiful August day.
x
Hannah Aug 2017
There is
blood on the moon,
a message written
in deep red blues,
warning me,
beware
of you.
Hannah Aug 2017
Were you ever real at all?
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