𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎 𝑛𝑒𝑤 {𝙇𝙊𝙑𝙀 } 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑦 //

The writing of a new [love] story- requires an excavation of the old.⁠⁠

An uncovering of all that has gone unhealed, all this time. I feel their presence, so close to me. As though the thinly veiled layers of past/present/future has taken up residence using my heart, mind and dreams as the battleground to work out the unresolved, the unrequited, the long shoved away... ⁠⁠

Oh yea, I see ghosts. But not in the way you may think. I see what lies beneath; the presence and remnants of the soul inhabiting the shell. I feel the stories, their pain and uncertainty. I know their struggle as though it is my own. ⁠⁠

In hindsight, it was a dangerous space to be, before I understood what I was: a brief stop on a long and winding journey toward redemption. For I would invite them to come in, sit before my fire and share with me their stories; the troubles and questions lingering on the edges of consciousness; offer companionable silence- much needed and too few and far between-so they may rest easy for a bit. And as we talked, shared space- as they witnessed the truth of me- I sensed the weariness melting away, the armor being removed piece by piece; revealing a clearer version of the truth [the essence of soul already sensed].⁠⁠

In my younger years, and childlike innocence- before I knew- I mistook the purpose of these "chance" encounters and wanted badly for them to stay. Clung to the illusion of intimacy and scraps of affection they provided. You see, they were familiar; I understood them, because I too was a bit of a lonely ship sailing towards some unseen and uncertain shore. A paradox- sure and knowing while also lonely and uncertain. Both seeking and offering refuge, homeless and home base all at once. ⁠⁠

So I held on. Allowed a taking to unfold over and over and over again; asking very little in return. There was a knowing that they needed me- and I needed to be needed. A perfect fit. I suppose on some level I understood the value of my presence, a safe place, a stop along a wild and dangerous path. And in that knowing, I allowed so much to be taken...⁠

I wonder now, how they may still be drawing water from my well, when their cups begin to run dry...remembering the nourishment and warmth of the presence of my love and adoration bestowed upon them as a fond memory- while an unconscious siphoning takes place.

True, honest love opens doors. It unsettles, awakens and unearths what was once buried. What I thought to be long put to bed memories of a life I no longer recognize or identify with are flooding back with a new clarity. From this vantage point, I am able to see a more complete picture; a highlight reel playing- old stories I know i've seen before but now witnessed through a new lens, from new angles. More and more pieces presenting themselves to be fit back together; fragments coming home

A recognition that there are still threads and channels open, tethers left intact, never severed. Turns out, there was a certain comfort despite the absence of physical presence. The fear of being alone, the need to be affirmed by the outside, stronger than my desire to be free...to be whole unto self.

But now it is time. I call back these pieces given out, the room I kept for you to reside within me is no longer available; I close channels still open and invite an individuation to take place- an invitation to step out of my depths into your own authentic power, this source is no longer available to draw from.

⁠The writing of a new [love] story requires an excavation of the old, a reclamation, piece by piece, past/present/future; doors are being opened…

…and yea, 𝗶'𝗺 𝗱𝗲𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗹𝘆 𝘀𝗲𝗲𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗴𝗵𝗼𝘀𝘁𝘀...