Lonely? No more. Just alone. Alone, but not lonely.
She delighted in the thought that she belonged to nobody but herself. For the first time in....months. A year or two, perhaps.
This time, she vowed using her heart as a compass: the only directive that made sense - in between working multiple jobs. In between what seemed to be the "bullshit." Figuring out her path, for she felt she was at a crossroads..if she stays where she is, not much more would happen.
At first she felt alone without that other body counterpart next to her in her bed at night. She pushed out the echoes of his voice telling her what was wrong with her, what needed to change. The ghost of him was nearly a memory inside of her mind; it only lit up if she thought of it.
So she faced it and its insanity; that the thoughts any man would ever have of her were simply not true.
She was her own, only wanting to be pet and scratched with affection sometimes. Like a cat. And once there was a little too much, a bite. Then prancing off to the next neighborhood in pursuit of her own adventure, leaving the memories, tears, confusing conversations, and self-doubt behind. Codependency was an illusory state of being. It was not her: wild, fierce, bold, independent. And she craved to bring back the sides of her that were buried.
She committed to the divine feminine. She stayed up late at night reading forms of poetry and metaphysics and essays that lit her up from the inside. Something shifted. Something needed to change.
Slowly but gradually, her strength came back. The walls of the castle she had built around herself came crumbling down and collapsed heavily. For many observing it from the outside, it seemed frightening. Worrisome. But she knew what was going on, and had no need to explain it to anyone else.
She didn't need a knight. She needed a sword.
And her sword had been right there in front of her the whole time; she merely needed to recognize it. Reach for it. Hold on to it and trust it. Her compass of a heart would guide her to the next direction.
Published by Dani Savka