Right up until my body
broke apart,
I held composure—
a steady hand,
a still heart.
Lazy river,
hazy summer,
love.
The sense that I was
in control—
the creator of my lightness,
the maker of my dreams.
I held it all,
disjointed,
yet whole,
a space holder for my blue,
for my storm—
a sailor with a compass,
charting unpredictable waters
under the vast sky.
Then you arrived,
and with you,
a dam was released.
The flood came—
not gently,
but all at once,
like thunder shattering
the stillness of the sky.
I was swept away—
in the torrent,
in chaos—
chaotic good,
terrible chaos,
undeniable pain.
The physicality of that pain
mirrored the dark,
lurking mental pain—
twin storms raging within.
No end in sight,
only the in-between,
the numbness,
calling out
for someone
to save me.
And yet, here I am,
whole again,
though disjointed,
more than I was,
and yet, less.
Tethered—
by the obligation
to keep you safe,
by the undeniable warmth
in my chest
that can only be
unconditional love
for you,
through this soul connection.
My heart aches and expands,
holding space for the fragility of life—
like butterfly wings emerging from the cocoon,
delicate and untested,
soft newness still bound
by the weight of the world.
My purpose now is
to ensure you thrive,
for that is the totality of my life.
The weight of love and duty
sinks me to my knees.
And in the aftermath,
all I can manage is this:
Breathe,
baby,
breathe.
Layered Fragments, Becoming Whole 