later

the sky
the night sky
it looked a little different,
as i walked outside into the cool(er) air, it relieved me from this heat-drenched day. the ground was still, uncomfortably, warm.

the moon was almost full. the stars glowed a little more expertly than usual. a plane passed between the two, the stars and the moon, to paint a trail of creamy white against darkened blue, a line to break the blind.

but more spectacular still, on the horizon glowed a far-off bushfire. a plume of smoke.
big.
intimidating.
a haunting contrast to the normalcy of the stars and the moon and the big dark blue.
red and orange and a smokey plume.
drifting across tonight’s nighttime.
tonight’s night sky.

a whole lot of movement in the ordinary stillness.
the heat and the plane,
the glow,
the fire far away.

therapy.

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[photo: west beach, south australia]

i needed to swim in the ocean today. i needed to saturate my bones with the searing saltiness of this southern sea. on the edge of the country, i stood, as the waves tickled and buried my feet in the sand. for a moment, i gave into the sinking and the sticking before i wriggled my toes from the heaviness.

the water was unusually warm. i dragged my legs through the shallows, wade by wade by wade and dove into the surf, as the smallest of swells churned the water so constant, so refreshing so fucking crystal clear. under two feet of ocean, i spun to face the sky and opened my eyes to look up through that searing saltiness at the scorching, summer sun – a bright, white light that shifted upon the glassiness as the ocean moved in its own deep breaths on my behalf.

my eyes were burning long before the salt and the sun in the sea today. but, today’s pain brought relief from the home it has so recently been threatening.
and so,
my heart,
in peace,
it floated and it rested.

and i kept telling myself to give in, to feel how it feels, to let it cleanse me. let it renew me. let it be the therapy i was in so very desperate need of. with no words and no poetry and no writing and no talking and no thinking. let it be no feeling. let it be no afternoon nightmare. just let it be.

it seems i always forget
how much i need the sea.

bring me home, be my guide, walk with me into the rest of my life.

300 days away.

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i’m home.

fear, anticipation, anxiety, excitement, dread, exhaustion, sadness, emptiness, complete and utter fulfilment, satisfaction.

happiness.

the people i shared this year with made it all so worthwhile: the people i never expected to meet, never expected to feel so much for, people i never expected to be missing this soon. i’ve never known a life like this, it was only ever a dream. and it still feels just that way.

how can it have gone by so fast?

i’m balancing on a ridge between tears and disaster. i fear the fall, i fear the darkness [i can’t see below] i fear all the unknowingness of returning to a place i fought so desperately to leave. from a person i didn’t recognise, to become the me i am right now. the person i’ve been neglecting, trying to be something and someone i’m not. but this, this is me. and i owe it all to the unknown. to the places i find love, to the people i met.

the people the people the people.

those who made me think, made me question and develop my beliefs, nurture my own sense of self. those who undid me, who stripped away the nonsense and dug their way to the very core of who i am. those who came to know me by more than just my name and my hometown. those who watched me fall apart, who kept me close no matter how many times i tried to push them away. those who became the family i missed and longed for. those who took me in, walked through the flames beside me, ran towards the fear and fought me and my innate desire to shy away from the hurt and pain and aided in a sense of deliverance from all that ever held me back.

the people, those people, the love i have for you. the person i became because of you. the things that changed in spite of all the resistance to or simple unknowing of everything i truly needed.

those people.

300 days.

day 300.

i’m home i’m home i’m home.