Circumstances

She grows overnight
(to my eyes)
and blooms

Tendrils and roots
to depths and breadths
she drinks

basks

glows...

*******

One example. A snapshot that I arrange at the top of the stack to mask what lies below. With them, it's always progress and regress. A cycle or a spiral that moves in millimeters forward toward wisdom. With us, with all.

Maybe the circumstances make the difference. Maybe small class, fewer distractions, more urge to aspire.

They grow, as we all do. The process isn't always pretty, or encouraging, and sometimes the glimpses of glory become far too distant. Sometimes the letting go becomes a learning experience for all of us. First steps, balance, topples, griefs, getting back up. Repeat. And for us, letting go and trusting. "Let go and let God."

Sometimes they grow wild.

****
shoots and leaves
bloom and
fruit bittersweet
green but
blushing
maybe brazen
explore and
conquer
unhindered

Expression

Her words expressed more than I wanted to learn. Maybe she wrote only the dregs of her thought - I can't imagine her being this heartless. But their history is ragged and scarred. Kay had all but abandoned her when she was in the hospital last time...maybe she wants to throw this in her face.

Is this another warning? First day, already tragedy...

already...

Random thought via the never-sleeping interpreter. He was always carefully measured, precisely attuned to effect and appearance. Would it be, then, wrong to assume his appearance of haste that night to also be a precise instrument? No shirt, the ubiquitous trench coat hanging open. A planned exhibit of my ability to drive him to my door with my words? Or a demonstration of what I would be losing. The Grecian Urn body. He proved in that case that he cared only for what he supposed I desired of him. Perhaps he could never fathom the possibility of my wanting his mind more than his body. Perhaps he fell in love with his self-portrait.

Your bones
will clatter in my skull
until I bury you
in words.

Alone?

Sometimes I swear I need to be alone for good. Although I know that seclusion only looks good because I wouldn't have to deal with the problems that lead me to want to run away in the first place. I'm just tired of feeling the need to fix something about myself. I just wish that I could be who I am without any reference to "normal" or "expected." But I suppose I can't do that. Being part of a social situation, I have to do some things to make myself acceptable.

I have this recurring fantasy about becoming a Buddhist nun. But even then I would be among others and I'd have to change myself in some way.

I jump to conclusions very easily. I can take any situation and blow it out of proportion in moments. Unintentionally. I don't mean to be a closet drama queen.

Enough for now.