I woke up at 4am crying, sleeping in the dining room under a shadowed chandelier named Sophia. She’s white a flowery and beautiful and is what I would look like if I were a chandelier. I was freezing. It’s like gangrene – one part of me gets infected and I’m done for – the tip of a toe, the hair on a hand – my whole body cold. I’m shivering. There was full moon light through the window only I wished I could turn her out. I saw her earlier on fire. She was smoking and I could smell her down to the ground. Hazy in her film in clouds. She wasn’t red or flaming, but about to burst her cocoon and bloom into the sun.
How will you bloom if you stay still, a soul of a friend says to me. Of course she is right. Souls mostly are. And of course I’ll keep moving, only what scares me most is wiggling out of an old skin, what the new one may look like when the transformation is complete. But I turned over, held on to love and felt instantly warm. And that’s where I am. Thinking about a time with my mom at Dillon’s Beach and her reassurance that even in my quiet times, my shy times, even in times when others may not understand my distance in such a loud world – I’m OK because it’s who I am. Even in my apartment alone where I started and saying goodbye.

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