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  • Writer's pictureKalan

A Start

I stand and I look. I take it all in, this place I am in. My eyes gaze through the glass of a large window, and I watch the rain fall lightly. It lands gently like dew on the earth. The birds are still and quiet in the rain. The morning awaits the day. The clouds are heavy, the sun hidden but still present.


I try to breathe deep, a thing that is hard to do these days. My ears catch the precious, electric sound of giggles from 2 little boys. The skin on my hands feels warm as it wraps tightly around a fresh, hot mug of coffee. One of the small, wonderful pleasures of life. I look up and my eyes pause. They gaze at the unexpected beauty of the fresh sunflowers I chose for my home this week. They bring me both peace and sadness. Hope and grief. Just this morning I placed them in a vase on my cabinet, the story of why I love them so secretly kept. They are a reminder of who I am. What I am worth.


Tears were once so foreign to me, a thing never known, but not anymore. Lately, they fall so often and sometimes so unexpectedly that I don’t always even notice them until they slide all the way down my neck, but this morning I know they are there. I feel them as they carve a gentle, slow trail on my cheek. And here, I breathe. Even if for a moment. My fingers finally land on the keyboard that keeps so much of me. I know how scared I have been to come back here. For the first time in my 36 years of life I have been too afraid to do the one thing that comes so naturally it is just a part of who I am: write. The knowing of what would need to come out when I sat still has kept me buried. But this morning I stare and take in what’s around me. The damn sunflowers that remind me of so many beautiful things. The window I stare out of inviting me to remember why I chose this home for my children. The sun that begins to peak through the low clouds. The sound of my boys’ laughter and the knowing that they need to hear mine again. I know. It is time. I am here, and this is a start.




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