I was missing a piece yesterday.
I woke up and felt a space inside - a distinct space. I'd say "I just wasn't feeling like myself," but I was...except without a component thereof that completes the rest.
I recall a moment in The Dark Crystal, when the Skeksis strap the teensy, pop-eyed Podlings to a chair, tap their plump little arms with cruel-looking needles, and drain their life essence into gothic-looking glass jars. I felt as though someone had pulled a similar trick with me as I slept. I knew it upon waking, and automatically intuited that the best course of action would be to tuck in and stay there until the missing bit reappeared.
It made me think about the incredible chemical balance that we all tiptoe across - how can it stay with us, this thing called 'happy'? It's coaxed out so capriciously, and chooses its companionship with an unbelievable fickleness.
On introspection, it amazes me that we are ever happy, healthy, or sane at all. These things are miracles. That fact should command more respect.
this is freedom
lying on the backs of angels knees apart head tossed back and laughing throat lain open and throbbing and chalk-white to the world because none can threaten the thinness of this skin if those blue eyes are on me
we are a rock we are an island we are full of each other we are each others' worthiness we are each others' blood
i have walked through the shell-strewn wastelands to find you
so many narratives
so many third acts abandoned
i have left footprints on water for you
i have left my old skin crumpled and rejoice when you touch the new pulling it around my shoulders lips pressed to my forehead
the fullness of history is in our keep