(Not my image, found in google images)
There’s a glimmer of hope.
Maybe “space” isn’t code for “ fuck off” after all.
Hope terrifies me. I’m far more familiar with “crushed”.
But familiar isn’t feeling so good. I’m feeling like I need to stretch my comfort zone. I feel frozen and antsy at the same time. I don’t know what I need to be doing. Hibernation and Netflix is very seasonally appropriate. But I’m dreaming of spring. And love feels like spring, even in dreary February.
Love to so strong yet so fragile. It takes time to grow. It needs tending. I didn’t learn these skills in my home growing up. I don’t feel competent.
But I know how to love, although it’s often messy and sometimes inept in its manifestations. When problems arise I can shutdown. Clear communication can be impossible if I’m pushed to the point where I go mute inside. I know I have a lot of growing to do.
If shit is the stuff that fertilizes and makes things grow then I should be grateful. And way taller than I am!