Returning to those moments of running to the door. Rising to the occasion stretched before me. I didn’t want to be outside. The phrase “ never underestimate the power of boulting.” I stopped placing myself in the corner, I sat close to the door. I knew this was where I would find my comfort, in the corner. I sat alone wishing for a hamburger, which I hardly ate. It was a vegetarian place mostly, some past memory wanted control.
I like my space, but I needed to lean on a memory, why a hamburger? I do not know. I stayed near the door wishing my reminiscence could explore this place with someone. The need to bolt for me has become a response to not facing being alone with myself and who I am.
This is where I am shaken free, awake. Sitting in this corner on the edge of tears, I will dance with a partner I have loved and hated. As I’m led and humbled in my time I knew nothing as I told my stories, the evolution of words said to rise in a cramped display of pretense ran wild. Looking out the windowed door on a vision of greenery as if kissed by the sun. Can I climb the stairs of creativity for this story or lose because it is so tempting in ringing my own bell. The freedom of my light wanting to be able to lie under a tree.
