on finding yourself.

She has always taken her heart seriously. After all, she’s hardly ever made a decision without it and those that she had were quite often wrong. It was due to this serious attentiveness that she was left forlorn and distraught when her heart got lost. Her own personal travesty, she felt a cave in her chest, in the middle and slightly to the left.

She spent what felt like decades trying to find it, retracing her steps as if she were looking for her keys. Every day becoming more hysterical, she wondered when it would become necessary to throw in the towel. She supposed a new one wouldn’t be too hard to find but she knew it would never be the same.

With time, other things began to slip away as well. Her well of inspiration, for so long full, began to dry up without its pumping reservoir. Her creative spark, lacking the push it needed from an inspired moment, fizzled. Then, one by one, she watched her confidence, love, drive, beauty, and longing for temptation drift, phantom ships far from shore.

She tried, oh she struggled, uphill and with all the tenacity of the retired boxer in a comeback fight; supported by a memory, disappointed by the truth. She lost herself in, ironically, herself. There was no depth to wade through to find her. Wondering about how one goes about starting over, she slowly curled in on herself, a  helpless relic of a once strong fortress.

And yet.

And yet.

One day, lying down and bleeding out her uncertainty, there was a whisper. It was soft, far away, almost too quiet to hear but she was saved by her silence for once. She heard the whisper, hear it loud, like a clap of thunder announcing the lightning bolt about to strip her world away.

“Go.”

She waited, for so long she had lost any direction and had forgotten how to respond.

“Go.”

She had no other direction. So she went.

Away from all the things she always knew, she went. She crossed thresholds and drew back curtains. She left behind so much and at first did not know why, she could do nothing but continue. Under stones and over hills. Crashing seas, gusts of wind, peeking suns and rains that pelted. She walked and she laid, she drank and she sang. She said hello and goodbye, she read and she wrote.

And then.

One minute to the next she changed, one second to the next her world was irrevocably different, from when she hadn’t seen it to when she had.

Beating.

Pounding.

Pumping.

Resounding.

Nestled, safe and comfortable, in the hands of a girl. A girl with a smile, a girl who knew. And with surgeon’s hands she put it back where she knew it belonged, in the centre and slightly to the left.

And then her inspiration, her creative spark, her confidence, love, drive, beauty, and longing for temptation were handed back. All of them held, safe and comfortable, in the hands of all those she left behind, where they had always been.

She knew then that she needed to be without them to find them. She needed to stop searching and let go for her to understand that it was always there. She needed streets paved in unknown history, drinks made with unknown water. She needed kisses from mouths that tasted foreign and that pronounced her beautiful only because she was soon to be so distant.

One by one, all her bits and bobbles placed, each loving hand whispered “come back” as they did so.

“Come back.”

They were her clap of thunder, those people. And she, somehow, became her own lightning, stripping her own world away.

And how beautiful it was to find out that she really, truly, liked the girl she had always been.

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