Ice

​Sunday was Christmas.  I spent  it alone, which, I told myself, I wanted. And I did. It was what I needed. I baked and I ate and I cried. I allowed myself to go deep. 

There was a moment where I imagined my now self going back in time and holding my infant self.  Loving on myself so tenderly, so purely that the love just seeped into my skin. Creating a shield,  to protect me from the things in the world which were waiting for me. Wanting, desperately,  to care for myself, raise myself so that I might become a force  to be reckoned with. 

It only happed once. And only for an instant. But I feel like I’m breaking through. 

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