the shore

It is strange the things which happen to us when we are cut open along the seams and laid out piece by piece. How hard is it to see what we are truly made of on a daily basis? How impossible to make sense of the parts which do not work, the gears that grind against one another? It is the strangest sensation to be projected against yourself, to see how someone you love truly see sees you, the parts that fell into distaste, the stretched and warped version you can become in the eyes of someone else. I have said it before, and will say it always, you can never truly know another person. And I am wondering now how well we know ourselves. Can I ever truly know myself if I continue to twist and change in my own hands? I am worn thin and raw, feel turned inside out upon myself and forced to ask the good hard questions again. Who am I and more importantly who is it I want to be now? There are glimmering instances where the tides of feelings so visceral and so close to the surface I sometimes drown in them, times where they clear and I can see the shore. This is hard soul work, work I probably signed up for before this lifetime, a lifetime of lessons I am fated to learn. I am learning by the hour what it means to be inside this body of mine, for the more of the lesser, for the terrible and the wonderful, for all of it. 

The same part of the brain is activated from a broken heart as it is from a third degree burn. 
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