Fast write, Prompt: March
March was the month I trusted.
“I’ll do whatever it takes,” you’d shared before you left. I need more then words, I’d replied. I knew this sentence, and others that were music to my ears and lube to my pussy, were fresh on the heels of you diving into your shame and shadows. I opened to possibility that you were not the same guy.
While you were away I did my own work. Deep sea diving into the dark depths of rage and then up to the heights of love, and everywhere in between. I emptied out my heart. I died, to live again.
I crawled out of winter’s cave open, forgiving and trusting. I opened my heart to you again, willingly. I couldn’t not- it was already in progress. But I could not open my pussy to you- that too was already predetermined and not up to me.
March was the month I trusted, over and over, that exploring my pain was for my best interest, and it was. I loved you fully, and I loved me more still. Not in all moments.. I lost myself a bit, again, as I tend to do. But in the end it was me I choose, not you.
March was the month I found pain, desperation, and the volcanic emptiness of mental fatigue. A sweet and savory song danced through the prickles and pokes, and to her I returned over and over and over again. She saved me.
March was the month I finally accepted the message that had been repeatedly transmitted and I refused to hear: my open heart does not feed you, it is not what you want. I shrank as small as I could to overcompensate, but it didn’t matter- that strategy was dead. Liberation.
March was the month god showed me myself- loving, compassionate, adventuresome and rebellious. The train of footsteps undefined yet mine- leading to freedom from, and freedom within.
March was the month life began a new, and died a bitter sweet death. In like a lamb and out like a slaughtered lamb. But a dove remaining, and the heart of a lion proclaiming, Thank You March.