Phantom pains from a love still looming, not quite dead but dying, with time and introspection, with a life carrying on in spite of it’s past. My past made me, but with every day I am creating a new one, and a new me to be made.
Cocoon stage.
A state of rebuild from ashes still smoldering, but there is a heavy wind.
And rain. Lots of rain.
And floods and high shores. It won’t be long, we built our relationship in the sands from drifting tree bark, still damp and the skeletons of promises never quite kept.
I am no longer waiting on you.
I am waiting for me to become me and to lose you and every wound you opened. My skin is quick healing, flexible and soft. And this time, I thank God for soft skin. Yes, it calls for deeper marks, but heals much quicker than yours – taunt and hardened.
Sheppard, you never knew which way to herd me; you couldn’t even lead yourself. So I’ve converted to a new set of boundaries: none. A freedom based on me. I am no longer yours to kick, to comfort, to hold. I am mine and you are alone with thick skin no fingers or tongue or love can penetrate.
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