I was a husk filled with things that weren’t me,
and all the problems I’d had
were squashed down so tight
I didn’t even know they were there.
Now the spell is broken and I’m returning to myself,
those crumpled seeds
are sprouting
and forcing me to re-live and re-live and re-live
in a never-ending loop.
Until I hear your voice.
Then, it all stops,
leaves dropping in the wind.
Your careful words are a salve
to these self-inflicted wounds.
They will not heal me completely, but they help.
They really do.
Treeshallow Musings 