Endless Opportunity

There she was. Or there – it – was. The body of a lady left in the dust, a soul so lost with no hopes of being found.

She can function because the patterns of remembrance ring true;
most of the time.
You can chat her ear off and her response will always shine.
She’ll dance, even sing.

But you don’t know who you are talking to.
She doesn’t know who you are talking to.
Her soul is covered in gunk,
her mind is in a never ending loop.

She fails to remember how simple everything was when she was clean.
There is no sparkling message flowing about her mind reminding her to remember.
Remember the feeling of paint in between your fingers, remember the glory of waking up in your bright sunny room, remember your energy, remember the way the trees dance with you.

Her eyes melt in the mirror.
Society’s crop is thriving amongst the soil in her brain. The absolute ethereal being facing her, is now labeled “less than.” She never questions what she’s comparing it to, all she knows is that is how she should be, and this is how she is.

Once again, there is no sparkling message swirling through her brain to remind her that her body is everything. There is nothing to compare it to, it’s simply everything. It does everything for her; it cleans her – it keeps her alive. And yet she stands there with a knife to its flesh, staring it down with not an ounce of gratitude beaming through her eyes. And what’s it left to think? The body stands there perfectly as perfect can get, and takes it because the body will do anything she desires.
It can stand up, but not for itself.

So (she) walk(s) away from that wretched wall hanging, and find(s) solace in a chair. A chair in which she sinks. Sinking slowly. Spiraling quickly. Into a deep dark blackhole. The fear climbs higher and higher until her crown is soaked in deception. She sits and thinks. Thinks and sits. About none other than everything wrong.

At the foot of the chair lies her soul;
suffocated by the occupant of fear that has taken over her body.

It goes on like this for months and then years, until one day she remembers. The day she reads that sparkling sign. It reminded her of everything. She listened and slowly slowly scraped away the gunk (years upon years). She left her cluttered mind and found her soul.

To feel became her favorite thing to do.
It felt like everything all at once.
She was liberated and gained custody of her best friend; who was with her the whole time.

She felt sorry for her wickedness.
The way she thought, the way she spoke to her own self,
it repulsed her.

Ultimately leading to forgiveness and acceptance (months upon months),
she soon realized– you can’t go back,
only now.

Her eyes looked upon numerous flowers since, her favorite being the one behind her ear when she’d look in the mirror.
The mirror became a work of art every time she walked by.
What a relief it was. Everything was simpler, there was no dread in living because
she remembered.

By recalling her self,
she was welcomed into this land of love.
They opened the doors,
And…
Showed her the birds chirping,
Oh, how they sound like a symphony, she thought.
And- and
They showed her this waterfall
It was shouting to the trees, offering them a free ride to a new journey
How generous and sweet of that old waterfall

Infinite examples could display the feeling of admiring a moment as it is. These moments make up every reality. Not one person gets to leave this present moment, and yet it tends to be the moment everyone likes to escape from.

Xoxo,
Annie Rose Foldenaur