i think i’ve grown comfortable with my own suffering. surviving, and only surviving, for so long- anything else feels alien and discordant. it still makes the future fuzzy,
out of reach.
it overwhelms me. drowns hope. scars and blood bring me back to focus; but slipping hasn’t happened here. grounding has come in mountain peaks, desert heat, the mist coming off the sea. stagnancy will eventually return and that will leave me in limbo. i only dream to keep peace with the sweeping land, making hope grow anew. watering the forest in my chest. keeping the fire of my soul from becoming all-consuming.