But it was just this, all along

by MB


"But the glimpse Bob had - a space empty of curtains, couches, rugs, whatever it is that people make a life around - struck him with its gone-ness. …The blank walls seemed to say wearily to Bob: Sorry. You thought this was a home. But it was just this, all along." 

I fell asleep happy last night. Full of great wine and food, and with a heightened awareness of content. For a brief moment, I panicked, uncomfortable with the foreign-ness of it all, as though I had suddenly arrived in a country whose alphabet comprises only unfamiliar letters, a deliberate collection of squiggles and lines meaningless to me. 

Minutes elapsed around this body that was not my own, measured by the rhythm of my breath, chest rising and falling and rising once again. 

I am re-learning to walk, slowly, to root myself firmly on unfamiliar soil. It is an exercise in trust, in finding patience in trepidation. 

Terrified. It was just this, all along.  

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