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Today an old friend came to visit.
Not completely unannounced, but
not particularly invited.

The kind of friend
that once served you well,
but their ways grew outdated
when you made it out of hell.

When the pain settled to trauma,
it became entirely something else.
But your friend thinks they know best
and give involuntary help.

The kind of friend
that's over bearing
and embeds into
the skin you're wearing.

Stitching in bad habits.
Manifesting your mistakes.
The friend you try to distance from,
but you can't seem to shake.

The kind of friend
you grow apart from
once your time there
is done.

Even though you're better off,
you still wonder where they are.
The kind of friend you dearly miss,
but must love them from afar.

Well, that friend...

Came knocking at my skull today.

(They told me they might be in town,
but I didn't bother to reply.)

Quick, shut off all the lights.
Quiet, try to hide.
Maybe if I'm gone,
they won't try to come inside.

But resting in the silence,
is a small child's cry.

And they know exactly,

where,

to find

me.


โ–ช๏ธŽ mica light โ–ช๏ธŽ
I don't know how
To get her home,
Or if she has one...
Does ๐˜ด๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ even know?

If I reached out my hand,
Would she even pull?

She's been making herself larger.
I can feel her reappearance.
She gets brighter, I get darker.
Interfering with my impulse,
And it happened again...

I forgot how I got here,
Don't where I began.

โ–ช๏ธŽ mica light โ–ช๏ธŽ
She calls and cries,
But there are only echoes
Bouncing on the walls
Of my empty chest.

She is forgotten.
She gets pushed aside.

๐˜ž๐˜ช๐˜ญ๐˜ญ ๐˜ด๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ฆ๐˜ท๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ ๐˜ฃ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ณ๐˜ฆ๐˜ญ๐˜ฆ๐˜ข๐˜ด๐˜ฆ๐˜ฅ?

.

โ–ช๏ธŽ mica light โ–ช๏ธŽ
Saudade, (n.): the longing to be near someone or some thing that is distant.
A riveting fracture
Of my current existence.
Clenching my throat,
Trying to squeeze out the dread;
The panic.

I've lost myself -
I don't know where I am, or
Where my body is.

Tense. Because
I'm trying so hard
Not to let go of myself,
Again.

"Keep straight.
Keep focused.
No.
Not like that.
Don't think ๐˜๐—ต๐—ฎ๐˜
About ๐˜ต๐˜ฉ๐˜ข๐˜ต.
Don't be that way
About ๐™ฉ๐™๐™ž๐™จ.

It's okay.
Try to breathe.

You have control
Over your mind.

๐—ฌ๐—ผ๐˜‚ ๐—ต๐—ฎ๐˜ƒ๐—ฒ ๐—ฐ๐—ผ๐—ป๐˜๐—ฟ๐—ผ๐—น
Over your mind.

๐—ฌ๐—ผ๐˜‚ ๐—ต๐—ฎ๐˜ƒ๐—ฒ ๐—ฐ๐—ผ๐—ป๐˜๐—ฟ๐—ผ๐—น
๐—ข๐˜ƒ๐—ฒ๐—ฟ ๐˜†๐—ผ๐˜‚๐—ฟ ๐—บ๐—ถ๐—ป๐—ฑ."

And it's okay
For a moment,
But the busy hands
Don't shield the silence
For long.

And through that
It comes spinning,
Entwining amongst
My conscious hardwiring.

"You are not welcome!
I don't want to believe it."

But I've been deeply imprinted
To believe
These emotional rules
Are bound to me.

So, often I break;
I give in.

The sheer loneliness
Of the thought
Consumes me.

I wait in the rain,
For when the storm dissipates,

๐˜”๐˜ข๐˜บ ๐˜ต๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ณ๐˜ฆ๐˜ข๐˜ญ ๐˜ฎ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ณ๐˜ฆ๐˜ต๐˜ถ๐˜ณ๐˜ฏ.

โ–ช๏ธŽmica lightโ–ช๏ธŽ
I'm trying to get better at sitting with my self
(weโ€™re in this 'til the end, after all).

I'm trying to listen and not judge,
to ask her (kindly) where those thoughts came from.
Whose judgments are being repeated.

It's not that it's a comfortable journey.
She hurls words in poisoned darts,
with wild eyes of blistering flame,
so sure of my faults that
I believe her more than I've believed anything
in our whole life.  

But I know what it's like to be in her body.
So lately I've asked her to sit next to me, quietly,
just for a moment,
just for a pause.

I think it's working.

She's taken to sitting beside me more often these days,
arms wrapped around hunched knees.
She speaks gentler here,
tells me I am scared we are not enough.
But she lets me place a hand on her shoulder,
and remind her: We always have been.

We breathe slowly as we soundlessly observe
the cosmic traffic of shooting neurons.
Of clusters of clusters of memories
and half-said things.

And I'm finding that, after all this time,
I am sitting well with myself.

— The End —