The last time I was here I was a child. A malleable body, both broken and forming. I was a fluid thing, finding my way in the world like all the rest. Nothing has changed, yet nothing is the same. As I write this, I have lived 25 years in my body, bruised it and loved it and some days I want to run from it but I choose to get in bed and just hold it.
A lot has happened you see, a lot has happened to me. To this 25 year old vessel and the sugarcane loving soul that dwells within. Where do I even begin? How do I put the turning of the earth in mundane words. Cram all of this magic into letters that stand beside each others, stiff soldiers on a line.
Maybe screaming here will help. Bleeding here. Dying here. Like all beautiful things, I must burn to be reborn. Maybe that is why I am here again, looking for a part of me I lost, for a lost slipper, a trace of my childhood.
Pray with me please, pray for me that I let myself get lost in the journey.
