Projection

It's almost unrecognizable. The familiarity combined with forsakenness. I gasp for air but it simply doesn't come. Yet when I can't hold out any longer and I'm at my last breath something occurs. A tiny burst of oxygen fills my lungs and for a moment all I can think about is how sweet it is to inhale and exhale. To feel the beat of my heart steady. How good it feels to be alive. But it isn't enough air. The tightness of my chest comes roaring back, and I'm once again down on my knees.

I went with my best friend today to see her horse. I'm absolutely terrified of horses. My admiration is at its finest from a distance. Their beauty is apparent but being too close makes me uneasy. Watching her ride, however, was breathtaking. The way the horse moved with the most graceful power was daunting. But there was more beauty in her rider. The poise, the grace, the confidence, the strength, the thoughtfulness, the gentleness, the love, the stunning beauty. She's the epitome of perfection. But her perfection isn't defined by flawlessness. It isn't constructed through lack of error and mistakes. Her perfection lies in her ability to smile through darkness. To love me despite all my difficulties. To on a daily basis show me that not only is my life worth living but that I can trust not to live it alone.

As I watched both of them move my mind went a thousand places. My heart was filled with so many things. There was this overwhelming ache to run. To find consolation in a moment of freedom and no restraint. The uncomfortableness of all the things buried so deeply inside me made me anxious. I wanted some sort of escape.

Erin took Gypsy, her horse, on a walk and I tagged along. I kept my eye on the horse for two reasons. Yes, one of them was my fear, but another was something entirely different. I kept watching how she moved. The deliberate feminine like steps seemed almost surreal. Her body seemed to big for the way her legs extended but instead of looking awkward it displayed a graceful stride that was unparalleled to anything I've seen. Music played softly in my head as I watched each step. A quiet symphony to the dance she was performing. Perhaps it was simply my imagination, or the way my mind paints images and transforms them into words but I began writing a poem in my head. The lines are unimportant. It's the meaning, always the meaning that is worth discussion. However poetry is often left to interpretation. What I feel will not necessarily matter or make a difference to what you feel. Some things are best left unsaid.

I'm very weak. In countless ways.