# 54 || serva me, servabo te

( For Taylah, Forever Ago )

Reciprocity and the golden rule is far easier said than done -  the volume of unrequited everything these days is absolutely devastating. I don’t know what comes of any desire derived and designed solely for selfish incentives. Often though, you can get so caught up in the self-satisfaction of gladdening the world that everything else falls apart. Suddenly you’re standing amid a mass of debris that was once everything you ever wanted but it was all too magnificent, you became overwhelmed and you couldn’t sustain it. Or maybe that is the way it is supposed to be, maybe that’s existence, maybe the highs must have their complement of lows but I can’t let myself believe that. No, no, non, I cannot accept that the meaning of life is to pick yourself up and dust yourself off every other day, that the wind of one door closing opens another, that letting go of something or somebody or somewhere you love beyond description could possibly be an option.

Though at some point, maybe you do need to get off that merry-go-round of tears, trouble and trials that you stand no chance at winning because safety and security will always worth settling for. It makes sense because the only sort of love I know, is the kind that rips your heart apart at the seams before standing back and daring you to stitch all the pieces together and make you As Good As New! Or better, even. Maybe mediocrity must be my new normal, before all the King’s horses and all the King’s men couldn’t possibly put me back together again.

Dear Yellow-Brick-Road, why would you ever intertwine my path with some things so incredible, but so momentary? Incredible might be an understatement, or it might be the wrong word completely. Because this sensation inside my soul is both inexpressive and intangible - I feel so shamefully naive to think that I might have been worthy of a fragment of fairytale. Even now, I still haven’t figured it out — but maybe it is better to have never loved at all, than to have loved and lost. Tous les jours je me réveille dans un cauchemar. And it’s not a mindset, it’s more real than I ever thought possible.

In a moment, something stole the magic and put it somewhere secret. 

 In a moment, I am everything I swore I would never ever be. 

  In a moment, down went Alice after it . . .

    never once considering how in the world she was to get out again.

PS. I'll tell you a secret. It might not keep you sane but it will keep you alive. You're better than this. You're better than expectations and entitlements and disappointment and despair. It's okay to want it all to go away as long as you don't. x

# 53 || PUTFLOWERSINMYMOUTH

Metaphorical loss is a hard thing to write about, because at some point rationality makes even less sense than irrationality and the sane part of your mind can’t figure out why the ache has settled somewhere so deep in your heart you can’t even find it, much less save it. How do you make it stop? Why did everything start sinking in the first place? I can realise, acknowledge and interpret most things, but it doesn’t mean I’ll ever understand it. Much less come to terms with anything. There are too many steps to acquiescence, I don’t know if I have the motive to figure out how and when and why, or the most important —- where now? Love, in its purest and most platonic form, might be the essence of this damned sensation. Who do I seek to blame or beg : to insist that I am too small, too afraid and too delicate to try to figure this one out?   

There must be some way to invert it all, replace reality with a dream and maintain that these daily motions don’t matter and the real world begins when you lay your head down to sleep. Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to take, If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take. Amen. Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. His Love to guard me through the night, and wake me in the morning’s light. It’s all topsy-turvy now, and I can’t seem to find my collection of clichés to reassure me that this is all happening because it’s supposed to. When I was a little girl, my mama told me that if you make a wish and it doesn’t come true, then it’s either because that wish might have hurt you or because something even more magical is on its way. Je te crois Maman, I believe you but only because I see it all around me but that magic keeps a safe distance from my soul. Winter seems to have stolen the light, I can’t find it, it’s hiding, where are you? 

 

Ready or not, here I come.

PS. ( God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, The courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference. )

PPS. And the spirit and tenacity in locating the effort to do so.
PPPS. And the desire to pick myself up, again and again and again.

PPPPS."You think relationships are difficult? Try friendships. Try courting someone in order to convince them to join you in some nameless, shapeless Platonic complication — forever. Convince an adult stranger that you are worth a healthy slice of their limited time and energy without the prize of sex or romance." — Laura Jayne Martin