| Make This Motion Count |

Look, Life.

I thought you followed the pedagogical approach known as scaffolding. I thought you introduced a simple concept, and then slowly built up to more complex concepts which reinforced this simple concept.

For example

This one time, I tried to eat yoghurt and blow-dry my hair at the same time, and I ended up with peach-flavoured hair balls.

Later on, I tried to write notes while eating fish, and ended up with scribble-licious hake.

Through this process, you taught me that multitasking can be very dangerous.

So then

This one time, I tried to have a real relationship with this kid. And he turned out to be an arrogant douche poop-head.

And another time, I met this really wonderful guy, and then he decided we should just be friends.

Through this process, you taught me that cats are my best friends, jerseys can never be too baggy, and hair can hardly ever be too dirty. Oh, and that I am going to die alone, surrounded by all the kids I taught, cats I fed, computers I broke and amateur theatre scripts I wrote, but absolutely no. true. loves.

WHY then. Do you bring this man in.

I had to rip off all my egocentric post-its

with mantras such as BE THE LONE WOLF

SUCK IT UP BITCH

and TINA FEY ISN’T REALLY HAPPILY MARRIED.

I’d gotten so used to

one coffee cup, one yoghurt bowl, one slab of choc, maybe two in the winter.

I can’t cook for two and I certainly can’t breathe for two either.

I don’t cry because I’m happy

and I can’t fucking write unless I’m breaking.

And no one breaks when their house is lit up and shining.

Still, he breaks me.

Rips to shreds my mantras,

Leans unknowingly against a wall,

doesn’t even hear the crash of brick upon brick of my self-imposed fortress coming apart.

The trust in my heart

running frantically from wall to wall because it KNOWS it is supposed to leave.

This is its cue

I taught it well

I taught it from experience:

this is the moment where you take your leave

and I close up my windows and I go to sleep.

You do not let in further

You do not give the keys

Shut up the shutters tight

Block out his speech.

So what do we do now?

My heart and I,

You with your soft hands, big eyes, blossoming heart.

I have no manual for this.

We are well beyond the mantras and the walls.

I keep waking up to you and you keep coming home to me and we keep walking in step and this is still and still and still happening-

I take another step

breathe in another of your breaths

and love – in all ways rushing around me totally – is here,

finally.

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