Today, I found the voice that wrote.
----
I love her. I love her like I have never loved before. Like I will never love again. I love her like this is my last chance at loving. It is silly. It is challenging. It is a reflection.
----
I know I live a good life. I wake up to a beautiful view of a sprawling city. I wake up to a cute kid who sleeps so freely, so recklessly on a large bed. I wake up to a wonderful man – a man I will be always indebted and grateful to. I wake up to parents who are eager to share a sliver of my life. I wake up, occasionally, to an old dog with whom I’ve shared so many tender, unbridled moments. I wake up to a smiling maid. I wake up to household chores that I enjoy. I wake up. Everyday.
----
A colleague once told me realists were once dreamers.
----
I spiraled for nearly a year. What a lie. I spiraled all my life. They saved me. Yes, you.
----
I always had direction. Now I don’t. I just float. You’d think, knowing me, this is freeing. I want to undo this freedom. Freedom is only as good as its story, sometimes.
----
It is not raining outside anymore. I have the hot chai and the samosa ready,
but not the show.
The night settles around here rather quietly. I have the cold water at my bedside,
but never a good book.
The drive to work is long, allowing time to think. I switch on the radio and roll down the window,
but it doesn’t drown the thoughts.
Power.
Privilege.
Penance.
Pry.
----
I love her. I love her like I have never loved before. Like I will never love again. I love her like this is my last chance at loving. It is silly. It is challenging. It is a reflection.
----
I know I live a good life. I wake up to a beautiful view of a sprawling city. I wake up to a cute kid who sleeps so freely, so recklessly on a large bed. I wake up to a wonderful man – a man I will be always indebted and grateful to. I wake up to parents who are eager to share a sliver of my life. I wake up, occasionally, to an old dog with whom I’ve shared so many tender, unbridled moments. I wake up to a smiling maid. I wake up to household chores that I enjoy. I wake up. Everyday.
----
A colleague once told me realists were once dreamers.
----
I spiraled for nearly a year. What a lie. I spiraled all my life. They saved me. Yes, you.
----
I always had direction. Now I don’t. I just float. You’d think, knowing me, this is freeing. I want to undo this freedom. Freedom is only as good as its story, sometimes.
----
It is not raining outside anymore. I have the hot chai and the samosa ready,
but not the show.
The night settles around here rather quietly. I have the cold water at my bedside,
but never a good book.
The drive to work is long, allowing time to think. I switch on the radio and roll down the window,
but it doesn’t drown the thoughts.
Power.
Privilege.
Penance.
Pry.
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