In the Midst of the Lotus

Things from my past seem to keep haunting me,tangling their fingers in my hair,
defiantly, roughly. The belittling words of my former burdens thunder so loudly in my ears. The weight of decisions I never made have settled on my bed making it difficult to sleep. My empty apartment is uncomfortable and I don't like the sound it makes. Irrational fears trailing at my feet... I'm having trouble understanding the functions of people around me. Their motives seem entirely lost, their conscience cast aside.

It's coming, I feel it. My patience, my obedience, my faith is being taught and tested. My chest feels tight. I feel like I'm counting seconds, ticking the days off on my fingers, frustrated I can't count faster. I'm too anxious. Too anxious for him, for December, for the thousands of Monday's to come, for things to hold, for arms that embrace, for the Woolf to find me, for residential reality, for his laughter, for the warm blanket that he is, for brilliance to emerge off the pages, for things that don't break, for the common ground we thrive upon.