Stronger roots

Summertime last year, I spent my day stitching my tan with my see-through optimism, before meeting you at Thaikhun that evening. 

"what do you do for your self-care?"

We took turns answering- your friends, I and our delayed dinner. 

The next 3 months were a series of blurred boundaries, gallery visits, and southeastern service. 

"In a grand scheme of things, it doesn't matter if you like me." 

my see-through optimism begged for a new thread

you could see I was sad, and my tan was fading. In parallel, this place I once considered my home, was quickly losing its meaning

"have a couple of uplifting weeks" said my therapist when he signed out for his holiday, in the evening.

the same evening, my best friend, and I were searching for meaning of our names, both of which meant memory.

the same evening, you sent me a voice message... 

"maybe we aren't right for each other"

my heart sank into a dusty beige faux leather sofa, while my best friend ran laps around compassion until he ran out of words to dust off the debris of our conversation.

"what does he mean?" 

a question to overstay in my day-to-day for months ahead to come, 

back to my low bed, the ceiling seemed high and my see-through optimism shrank even more, 

took 2 sick days so I could cry, 

lying down on my low bed, 

I wrote messages that I never sent

doubts and insecurities lived rent-free on the same bed, 

Preoccupied with perennial low self-worth, I wondered 'what about me made you leave?' 

The next 3 months were a series of 2 am journaling, solo gallery visits, and a search for reasoning. 

allowed the emotions to erupt from my belly, full of outdated beliefs

because the wound was rooted before I received your voice message and this time I wanted to fully heal for the sake of who I was becoming,  

I ran over same whys, painted mini portraits of strangers and briefly felt at home,

when the actual home of mine was crumbling as the base was labeled before I saw my therapist, and I never questioned any of it, 

satisfied all the labels, only to drown deep into depression,  

losing oneself is not a pretty sight and losing everyone else is another ugly fight, 

tired, added one more little layer, 

tired, I spoke even when my voice quivered. 

tired, trudged towards faint dawn again for the sake of who I was becoming. 

On becoming, 

this time, base layered with optimism that was no longer see-through, 

I had to shift gears to multiple whys and hows became easier to reach to, 

thirteen weeks of transitioning, balancing multiple truths, 

the next 3 months are a series of good/ bad cringe, silly humor, and stronger roots.