I want to release everything from my soul. All the weight. Tell it. To someone who will understand. Share it all, down to the last squiggle, the last shadow of feeling, the last breath, the last tear. Give it away, dissolve it in the air by speaking it, exhaling it, shouting it. Out of me. Forever.
But I know how the ears will catch it and how it will settle into minds. And how it will create a new me—the one I don’t want to be—tearful, in this very moment experiencing pain, resentment, regret. Even self-pity. Loneliness and sorrow. But I know this is only now. That I will crawl out, I will climb out, I will leap, I will fly, I will tear away, I will rise again. Like the Phoenix.
I am too strong. I am strong enough. I am so passionate. I barely believe in myself. But even that is temporary. Like everything in this world. Where so much is temporary—the span of a single human life. Mine. Yours.
Breathe deeply. Jump above the surface of the Earth. Hover somewhere in the middle—between there and here. Breathe deeply. Spit out the old world. And draw a new one in six days. And on the seventh day, rise again. Like the Phoenix. My world—a small galaxy of Love—that resides in billions of cells in my brain. I am a movie projector of three-dimensional space.
I will replace the film. And see the movie I’ve always dreamed of watching. What will be in it?
Me, Summer, Sun, Warmth, Beauty, and Love.