facing demons

I knew it was important. I knew he was making a difference somehow, forcing me to turn myself inside out and search the contents. I held back. I skirted the issue by writing about the cracked and crusty top layer. But I failed to root out the core of the stirrings that rose to the surface and shook me hard at times, hard enough to break me.

I couldn’t face it, but he dragged it out into the open air. I gave in. I spoke for myself. I spoke for him. I drained the wound. I came to peace with the dormant beast. He woke up that beast and stood by me as I conquered it. He gave me the sword, and I fought valiantly. He gave me the courage to fight.

And a weight has lifted. Space has freed up inside me for better things. A friendship, perhaps. Something supernatural, who knows. Or maybe that gift was the extent of our bond. Perhaps he’s moved on. Whatever the case, he needs to know, I have to tell him, from the deepest part of me, thank you.


Author: uncaged

When Picasso painted a blue Seated Woman in a Chair, he was unconsciously thinking of me.

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