Sometimes we wonder why the past haunts us; I think it’s because we can never know where we’re going, we can only know where we’ve been, and sometimes where we’ve been feels like stomachs lined with barbed wire, sometimes it feels like reaching for a glass of water but finding kerosene instead.
I’m starting to think that I’m going somewhere warmer, I’m starting to hope of a place where the sun falls on my shoulders in soft dappled patterns, a place where my hands are free to be held, instead of dragging old skeletons out of the dirt, instead of swallowing pills just so that I can breathe. I’m starting to hope that the places I’ve been are a fading flicker on the way to something better; and I’ve found a certain something that sits in my stomach like an antidote to all the anxiety I used to consume. The best part is that all of these things I have a tendency to drudge up are just there, they don’t possess me like they used to they don’t make their home in me anymore and they don’t rattle their skeletons against my ribcage when I breathe.
I’ve learned that the softest remedies can be found during the lowest of lows; I’ve found that the truth to the madness is never going to be where you are searching for it.