Paper, words, color, sound, scents, and ritual.
Turning nothing into something magical
I can finally feel myself again
Reaching into the recesses.
Those parts- numbed and lying dormant
Are coming alive again, like the trees outside my window.
Recovering from the longest Winter- two years of my life.
Several homes, several states, several hands,
I look down, and mine no longer feel alien.
I move through the motions that had lost their meaning to me
and they are renewed.
I faltered in trusting myself, let someone else dictate what my life should be
Swallowed the pills and went to sleep.
I'm done sleeping through life
Much better to be an insomniac magician
than to slumber numb.