Seeds in hand

the blankness of my mind is hardly complementary to the swirl of emotions that is the rest of my body.  not only do i feel the coldness within tightening my muscles, but there is this acidic like burning that’s drenched my anatomy, as though i’ve knocked back quite a few shots of doubt, and way more than my liver can handle.

I was saying just last night, i’m now embarked on a whole new journey, something that still has no literature to it.  there are no maps i’ve drawn to refer to. no little manual about do’s and don’ts.  no brand identity guideline. even who I am as a person is changing, and where i encounter instances that may resist this shift, my whole being it tremors just a bit. why.. because everything is still in the air. my seeds i mean to plant are still just in my palms, as though I haven’t found the ripe soil which they will best grow and bloom.  no roots.  just seeds in hand.

of course if we bundle this together with everything my body is still by the way going through- it ain’t a successful paella.  i would say no body should be enduring so much at just a one instance.  but that’s as stupid as ever.  because i am, and because well- things could still be a lot worse of course. in fact, i ought remind myself that i’m in recovery stage now. and at the very least i guess, my seeds are in hand already.

About fatimasque

living for artimaginationcuriousity
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