I'm packing up to move into my own place. As always with packing, there is a literal cleansing that happens; you purge what is no longer needed and save what scraps of paper notes and pieces of glass you have collected from sandy beaches and tuck them away in shoe boxes and drawers. Along with it, you brush away cobwebs and tears alike as you read through old journals and discard the broken bits of your heart you forgot you had stored away.
I found some old poetry, and ramblings. I thought I'd share this one. I don't know who it was directed to, but I feel that right now it could be applicable to any meandering stranger and possibly even medicine for my own soul.
Dear Wandering One,
Let me begin gently, as I acknowledge the feeling of emptiness you are experiencing. It is only natural and I assure you, you are unsuccessful in your attempts to disguise the sorrow. My suggestion on the matter is to release it, in the best way you see fit, whether it be screaming, crying breaking things or lashing out at inanimate objects. It will not soon subside (this feeling) but linger hauntingly, convincing you the warmth you once feeling has permanently abandoned your being. At this time, I advise being fruitful, finding an outlet and unleashing a sadly inspired part of yourself you never knew existed. Let me tell you, and I know from experience, it is the most glorious pain you will ever fall victim to...heartache.
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