A memory is often skewed
black-balled, but powdered blue.
We can belong to our past, give a name to the rocks that scrape our feet. We can bleed to the beat of forgotten tears and the perpetuating fears that bring back the many threads of bondage.
And it’s okay. Sometimes we need to just be told it’s okay. To grieve. To fall. To forget. And to let go.
Boundaries aren’t always born of un-forgiveness or lack of love. They are not always blistered lips from the lashing cold. They are fences of self respect that lead to a wider road, ending not always in tragedy, but in the hands of surrender. A place where the warm arms gather without judgment, and we all rest in peace.