does our childhood self, unhealed or not, hold who we find a home in? wherever is possible; or wherever we are accepted. did they keep you singing in a nostalgic serenity? mine did.
i was once very close to getting out of here; a little too close than what i’d wanted. the drums were unfeeling, without vibration. strings had been plucked with dead fingernails. they’d rattle against a hollow hole until no sound was heard.
i was surrounded by what i can only describe as an ache; it lasted a while. i couldn’t get out though. the music came back and i met myself; forgave the music most importantly. i met the stranger and became lovers.
i still think of us as two separate people. a childhood self that’s keeping the rhythm of the bass. she waves at me at times. reminding me where i have come from. how i have turned into a somewhat something;
i feel at home when i’m near the sea. i go as often as i can. salt sheds from my hair. i can taste my old self,
maple syrup and cherries; with a handful of the sea’s crystals. waving at me, your blonde hair is plaited. my teeth have grown and the redness around them. i wave back. Thank you for keeping me alive, i’m still trying to make you proud; every day.
i’m really proud of you, is repeated every day now; in the mirror; i don’t think you heard that very much did you? i’ll hold your hand through the five words, it gets easier i promise.
the same hands you held, pick up and admire the shells. they are bigger; they have seen, endured, and felt more. the softened meadows, the smoothes of skin; and its roughness. you’ve held many more hands; more than mum’s; holding your own in desperate needs; others too when you’ve let them.
you’ve felt their clothes, washed in their powder; changed the washing powder after, then returned to your own. felt the wet skin on your face and tasted the salt water running past your lips. melt as someone else’s hands cradle your cheeks; squeeze your cheeks. nipping at them, leaving them like cherries;
the redness hasn’t left. it comes and goes when the hole opens. lost inside; like you are going to pass out. to learn to take control again, is to wave at her; please.
i breathe and let the world take me for a second. fill me and release me. hold the knitted blanket you sleep with; she’ll leave whatever she is doing to comfort you.
she slept with that same wool. she held it so dearly until the tears dried.
i take nostalgia and dream of the foxes that used to sleep in my childhood back garden. foxes are so… i have no words for the beauty of a fox. you have an imagination still of the old; highlighted in gold; the drum is still beating because of these dreams. bass still in rhythm as your innocent hands strum.
i wave back into the ocean, and its raining. keep the shells for my windowsill; pebbles fall from my hands to hold yours. to love is to be changed; and to let me eat maple cherries.
love is taking both myself as i am and my child into your soaking wet knitwear; drenching us both in warm tea that savours our taste buds after a cold. that first taste; a first smell; love is to accept that time changed everything. but you are relieved, change that was watched from the sidelines; in silence, next to the sea lapping new pebbles for you to hold.