It’d be great if I could store my best thoughts—my best memories—on a custom made-reel.
This way, I could stay one step ahead of the way I feel. I’ve never really felt at ease. This state of being on high alert became a way of life for me,
To protect my body, my mind, my space.
For the life of me, a step is all I ask. Not a gigantic one, not two, or three. I don’t want to think; I simply want to be.
I could never sense when the abuses would come, and they did come.
Like water coursing its way over, and around, and under, and through me.
I. Could. Not. Hide.
Thoughts crept in, and whispered, “If you’re quiet enough, you’d disappear from the gaze and the hand of the abuser.” Thoughts haven’t always been my friends; I’ve been want to forget them again and again.
Foolish thoughts. Is it possible to live a life, in the here and now, never anxious? I never knew that the speed of thought I was always trying to surpass.
Violence prevailed, but hyper-vigilance would become my partner, my comrade—until I got hurt. The years would tell.
Remember what you can, and I mean everything, for those thoughts contain your very heartstrings.
Call it what you will. Your heart’s song. Anxiety, butterflies, a slight shift in perception. Your heart sings, your heart pants—not from running, but from the memory of your sacred dance your heart brings.
Sounds a bit official, almost, yes. Certainly less threatening, albeit, the ‘ol shift in perception didn’t introduce me to joy.
I mean, we’ve gone through everything together. Right hand on the Good Book, anxiety never left my side. Thinking is as involuntary as the beating of the heart.
One day, however, I spied anxiety, asleep. Just a snoring away—guess it got tired of trying to keep up.
While “it” slept, a thought caught me by surprise and caused me to pay closer attention to its pulse. “I don’t want to forget.” There it is. That’s the thought.
My joy, my laugh, my sexiness, my sass. Musings of wonder and confidence are some things I will not forget. Gorgeous grass stains on my green and white summer pants.
I get to pick the moments before I land at the bottom of the hill. It feels like bliss. My scope is broad; my eyes are wide as I roll with the earth beneath, and with bright blue sky, and in between.
Tumbling and tussling, I revel in reflecting.
On warm earth and fragrant grasses, I joyfully stand.
I smile. I am ecstatic, knowing my future is in my hands.
I will remember, yes, do more than recall, as I frame my reel with flowers, with moons, with the elegant luminesce of stars.
Petals and blooms, and the showiness of its spring, I’d nearly overlook, were it not for the joy of growing.
I am renewed. I am enthusiastic. I am moved and may I not forget.
In the blush of spring.
Petals on the reel of lovely memories.
Author: Cecilia George
Image: Bảo-Quân Nguyễn/Unsplash
Editor: Danielle Beutell
Copy Editor: Callie Rushton/Taia Butler
Social Editor: Taia Butler