bright young thing

It's been so long since I've had a seat in this corner of the room to write.
Everything feels so familiar.
Everything feels so different.
There's comfort in it.
There's an unrest in it.

Home.

It's good to be here.

It's good to be home for the holidays. That's been a while too.
This year is taking some unusual amounts of self control not to get the festivities started early.
I have a rule that I cannot begin to "deck the halls" until the day after Thanksgiving.
I have a winter playlist for now, of all of the songs that don't mention Christmas... just to tide me over.
Why do we rush to skip over the thanks?
Just to stop and enjoy the leaves turning...
Slow down.
Cooler weather...
Breathing...
Why are we in a rush to rush?
Rather than look around and say... yes. Yes! Thank you.
A grateful heart.
Why do I rush to ask how I feel?
Feel.
FEEL.
feel.
Rather than just be here.
Am i doing myself an injustice to delay the asking? Perhaps I've gone numb for too long and that's why I'm seated here writing for an audience of who-knows-how-many-actually-read-this-thing-anymore...
Am i doing an injustice by asking, rather than processing the world at large in new ways each day?

My little one has my heart strings in a flutter.

Do i even have what it takes to make you feel // fathom // understand // empathize with me?

Isn't it good to question your ability? To ask, do i even have what it takes anymore? Did I ever?

Funny thing is, 2 years from now, I may look back on this very entry with that 20/20 vision and say, "ugh to write that way again."
Or I may say...
"ugh. what was i writing?!"

Or perhaps we reach seasons in life when we realize we just want and, in fact, need to be adored.
It isn't enough to be liked.
We've poured out our souls for years.
Poured out our love again and again.
Hoping for it to become a stream in the desert... but it felt like a wasted offering.
That burning desire to be wanted... to be needed... sure. But, to be desired.
To be held.
To be appreciated... but something heavier than that.
To be ravaged... to have someone thirst for who you are at the core.
Sometimes you need to know someone is in love with you. Madly.
To be caught up in some wild love affair.
Stir up those embers!
Catch fire in my bones!
Burn up all of the dormant places and lets be alive again!

I'm weary of old patterns.
Old ways.
Old designs.
The dark repetition.
The chains of inadequacy.
The brainwashing systems of comparison.
Seasons be damned!
I'll bloom in the dead of night, in the middle of winter.
I'll defy the logic and the absolutes in black and white.
But only if you'll grant me this.
Only if the original breath will sigh into me.