Prose in: Privacy
My peace has been disturbed. When I think of relationships and where they vibrate on the different circles around me, I get shaken up. Something doesn’t sit right in my soul. I feel as if I have been split down the middle.
One her, being connected. Present. Too giving and therefore self-loathing. She never learned boundaries and therefore has been pushed too far from comfort.
The other. Distant. Willing to dismantle everything around her, in order to save herself. Borderline sociopathic? I’d imagine. She shares nothing of herself with others and she can handle the mass amounts of boats who choose to dock.
However, she will not let go of her privacy.
Going into the year of 2019, I want to refuge in my privacy.
My thoughts have been spilled and watered down. Almost like when you squeeze out an entire tube of toothpaste; you can’t get it back in. And if you try, things are bound to get messy.
I have made a mess of my thoughts, of my mind. I have lived on the dependence of others without strengthening the muscles of my own legs. To stand, by myself. In my own Privacy.
It sounds easy enough right? Just stop talking to everyone. Close the door and accept all relations through a mail slot that you check maybe once a week, daily on the weekends and holidays.
Start over. Everyone is disposable anyway right? At least that is what the world has made it seem.
All of which I have let out, I have let it be free. What I have said, what I have done, felt, or thought. It is and will remain free.
But those thoughts that are still budding. Those moments that have not yet broke through the soil and into the sun; I have decided to nurture them in my own private garden. I do not wish to discuss plants with animals or vice versa. If I invite you over for tea, then what is discussed, only absorbs into the walls, and they never talk.
Vines and stalks that haven’t been weeded by multiple gardeners tend to grow stronger, faster.
I want to indulge in more privacy. I want multiple moments to myself.