To Find Peace
Some Calming Ideas , I Hope They Help
Some thoughts on how we can try to calm ourselves in troubled times, I hope these words can help you do that.
π§ββοΈπβ₯οΈπ§ββοΈπβ₯οΈπ§ββοΈπβ₯οΈπ§ββοΈπβ₯οΈ
Standing by the Ocean
Watching the Waves
Dreaming of Mermaids
To Find Peace
π§ββοΈπβ₯οΈ
Wandering the Desert
The Sand blown by The Wind
Alone With Hopes
To Find Peace
π§ββοΈπβ₯οΈ
In The Depth of The Forest
Realm Of The Faerie Queene
Tuatha De Danaan
To Find Peace
π§ββοΈπβ₯οΈ
Wandering Unknown Path
Wondering What Will Be Found
Know That What It Will Be
To Find Peace
π§ββοΈπβ₯οΈ
Amidst The Hills And Crags
Climbing To Find The View
On A Perfect Summit
To Find Peace
π§ββοΈπβ₯οΈπ§ββοΈπβ₯οΈπ§ββοΈπβ₯οΈπ§ββοΈπβ₯οΈ
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Foot Bindings
I asked my grandmother how she knew she'd fallen in love. I am not sure I ever did love him, she said. This was before I met my husband. I was naive, a naked spring, a raw nerve of a thing. That cannot ever be me, I knew. Sadness swept in gently like a Moscow thaw. It is no simple thing, looking into a woman's vast soul and seeing its foot bindings. Now, in Italy divorced with my skin singed off, when I say I don't love him mean: I have succeeded at feeling nothing most days and it mostly works. Do you want the comfort of Nothing? Do you want Nothing, too? Be warned: you'll never be free, even when you are nothing. Here is what doesn't work: Accepting the stages of grief. Talking about it. Sitting with the feeling. Missing himβno, the person you were when you believed in death do us part. Writing poetry. That, too. When I say I don't love him I mean: I feel capsized in an endless, starved tide. What sometimes works: selective memory. You must forget ripe tomatoes and his beard and feeling perfectly sheltered in a big blue world. Forget coffee in bed, laughter watching TV, blowing out the candles on the birthday cake and the quiet all-encompassing knowledge that you are chosen. Remember only how love turned to a banal everyday survival act, a trapeze act unsure whether he will catch you, how the warmth stagnated and became sour, remember the foot bindings and remember the resentment boiling in your veins as you stick it out for the kids. Six-hour Netflix binges help, too. A man's fingers tracing your spine. Frozen pizza at 2 a.m. Random trips to the museum just to stand near things that last a while. The realization that crying wonβt change anything. Seeing that life is just a dream, and refusing to participate in your own suffering. Bite your fist. Walk on eggshells around joy. When I say I don't love him, I mean he didnβt break my heart, he just stopped touching it and it forgot how to beat right.
By Ella Bogdanovaa day ago in Poets
Comments (1)
That's beautifully written⨠Checkout my story on Inner and Outer peace, I hope it will resonate. Afterall, we write what we need the most!