I understood her antipathy.
For even in my vulnerable moments, I could hardly swallow my own words.
And I knew she was different.
But somehow the forgotten became the recalled and I blacked out to insecurity where breathing was merely a way of survival and not a way to regain focus.
The cycle of cyclones spinning like windmills.
Reminiscing with anxiety, chanting peace is pouring into me, stuck in a blank stare.
I treasured the pain.
For it is what helped me forget to forgive.
And yet seek forgiveness in the same frame I was capturing visuals of stagnation.
Tears swelling behind my eyelids screaming, “I am not them!”
Truth is, I am the rhythm to the blues.