The one about tears

I have a fever, probably an infection. I’m not sick though, in fact I think I’ve never been healthier. I’m easing back on my insulin because, hi? Things are working on their own. Kind of. A little bit … better than before.

I’m diabetic, I’ve realized I always will be. But I won’t ever stop fighting to work all by myself. Me and this little pancreas, we’ve got ideas.

So the fever? It’s all up in my grill about life. Good life. Great life. A blessed life.

Feeeeeeeeeeelings! And rain. Cloudy days, leaves falling. Yellow freckled lawns. Big grey yawns. Scarves and sweaters, blankets. Hot tea, coffee. A camera. My journal. Peeling paint and a new roof.

You happy little tree. I love you.

New shoes? Why yes, I’m that girl now. I buy shoes because they’re cute. Because they finally fit. After years of tiny feet (size 4. I wore children’s shoes to my prom.) I finally relaxed my grip on the soil beneath me long enough to grow into this body. My feet carry me all over the place and here I am, letting them.

Maybe I’m finally comfortable in so much of my skin, embodying my spirit, since my last birthday as a marker on time because this is my last year of 20something. I can’t wait to be 30 and thereafter. To have learned a hell of a lot from this decade but to also just be done with it.

Twentyallnumbers is still so next door to TeenAgeMuntantNinjaMe and I don’t discuss this because; skeletons, but 30 is free. I’m almost there, this marathon of memories, the hurdles to embracing my life … I’ve gone 26 miles and this last pointTwo might hurt but damn if I’m going to quit now.

Happy trail.


Because crying. Tears are a currency to my soul and one I’m rich in the past year (ok, forever). Crying has always been that one thing that you don’t do. You don’t show people weakness. You don’t crumble. And when you do, because you will, you find a place or single person who can watch you break in half without telling you you’re doing it wrong and you let go.

You let the fuck go.

And I am.

And I can feel the tide changing and the ocean of my soul turning. Refilling with it’s hopes and dreams. This drought is over and I’m gonna cry and dance and sing and wail and the trail of salt down my cheeks won’t burn.

Birch Bay

Not anymore.

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