Jul. 25th, 2016

krystale: (Default)
I'm so often busy trying to be my best that I forget I'm already something.

There's some grey in there where I still ponder things like how all I've accomplished is from skills I gained through something dreadful, through overcoming and an odd cousin of gratitude for the adversity I faced. That's a deep topic I'd like to ponder more, which frequently distracts me.

It's as though I'd lost myself without loosing my direction or mission or nature. Running into some old acquaintances seems to have knocked some bits of me back together.

I've gained new friends in the last few months, but with some of them it was as though something was missing.

It was me.
Somewhere within me is something memorable, but apparently I fail to recognize it any better than any other face.
In the soft voice of a strong one I heard my open vulnerability, my self acceptance of it and my ability to both share it and survive it.
In the warm squeeze and heavy hands of a playful and caring one I felt my playfulness and curiosity and silliness.
In the pale centered irises of another, a bit of something I don't quite understand yet. And apparently haven't because this particular eye contact based game is the resumption of a long one, but it's nearly predator prey in the way kits or cubs play.
In the entranced silence of dozens of students I heard my voice of experience.

I've lost many things and people, but I've apparently hung on to a few, too.

It tamps the fear and ignites the bold.

I want to express myself better, but I've let my writing fall out of practice. To me, I sound highfalutin and a bit lost. Also, probably funnier than I actually am. Eeeh.


krystale: (Default)

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