Let us cook

So many things have happened. Several consequential. And several more trifle things.

I am edging towards 40. I have built a life around peace. I am devoted to my cat, my plants and the few friends who have stood the tests of time. With many prior experiences, I wasn't particularly interested in meeting new people. So much wasted effort, I thought, for subpar rewards. Work was finally giving me time back to ease. And with the new found space and mental clarity, I dabbled in things that would make my retirement fun. Obviously, a big chunk of it was travel. Like a simpleton, I'd hoped to meet someone interesting enough on one of my adventures.

I don't gear towards that anymore, but travel, in itself is a big reward. And I shall continue to do so. I am finally at a place where I can breathe without being judged and just be. I have jars of different teas, and my house is adorned with crystals and paintings, that I have picked up on my tours. It was finally starting to feel like home.

I thought I was done with this blog. I am already published, what do I have to write for here anyways? The two people who read it? But this blog, like my home, is my safe space. And for a long time, I had nothing to embellish this space with.

When I read, and re-read all the poems I have written, I don't think I have any heart left to give. It has felt empty for the longest time and I took it to mean that it is peaceful. No pebble would disturb a dried out pond. What actually happened is, it gave me nothing to write about. There are no waves and ebbs. And there is nothing keeping me awake at night. There is nothing complex to resolve with journaling.

I met someone. And while everything in our lives seem to be going downhill before the first date, I am finally compelled to write. Because my heart is beating again and I don't know what to do with it. I look out the window in the evenings, and stare at the travelling lights wondering where everyone is going, and why am I here? I have looked at my phone more times in the last hour than I have in the entire week. And I am smiling, which is a very weird expression to come to terms with for me. I have a resting bitch face, I don't smile.

Is my heart leaping to imaginary scenarios? Absolutely. With experience, it is easier to rein it in though, and I am way too cautious to be optimistic about anything. There is a slight shiver in my bones. I don't know if that is joy, or relief of finally being able to unburden. The hardest part of being alone is not loneliness, it is that we become unable to rest our shoulders.

I always thought I had so much love to give. I wish someone would just take it.