Rewilding
- nasonalana
- Oct 11, 2014
- 2 min read
In this year of Rewilding my heartbeat dances it’s crooked feet from here to there laughing and crying and holding to those I swear are holy as my spine that curves question mark presses against the peeling paint of another mad dash escape. If you were to make a map of my love it would shine on in electric spider web sticking to train cars and book stands, cafe conversation and sunset kisses. As I’ve come into my smallness, into my imperfect body and uncertain words I cannot help but feel a sort of strength in my return. It is not the distance my legs have carried me nor a lack of vulnerability in my person but the blinding desire to absorb. As I walk and hitch and fly and sail I want to become a mirror to the chaos of a world untamed, to live somewhere between the green shoot fighting her way through the cracks of a broken city and the wild smile of a woman who knows the callous indiscretion of death. In the empty space where my mind wanders between this life and the dream I find myself as two women. First, there is the adventurer with unkept hair and dirty nail beds, her heart as free as it is full beats unapologetically as it whirls through this world wanting nothing and everything at once. She is daring and proud and foolish and brave bearing her scars as a captain would when she jumps, eyes open, into the sea. Beside her is the other, she is timid and raw, hiding away among the mountain’s shadow and the wallflower’s corner to protect from those who know how to take but have yet to learn how to give. Her body is not quite her own and she carries it around with the heaviness and uncertainty of a girl standing naked to the world. Within the safety net of instant friendship and fast burn romance, she extends nervous fingers but pulls away, always, before the wholeness of embrace. Now, past the waves, the love, the skies, the hurt, the heat and the heights, with these two hearts beating crooked and true within my chest, I find myself home once more, sitting at my father’s kitchen table, in a state of wonder at the beauty to be able to live, just once, in this great strange world.
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