deserving.

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 opening my eyes, the more life brims with liveliness, the more I realise how much I have yet to learn. it’s been a while of beautiful, gentle and ordinary moments. still, I cannot seem to handle that ordinariness with ease. 

it somehow slips through my fingers, that kind of effortless living. the mannerisms of family life, the sharing of beingness with dear souls and the constant showing up for love. I’ve known love in fantasies and sunrise stories, but showing up for it and sharing my heart is an ordeal indeed.


I find myself more prone to disappearing and drawing the blinds when the monotony of everyday life becomes my reality. when love becomes the only demand, and the sharing of it the only prerequisite, I distance myself to open skies and tidal waves. I try to remember everything that flaws me.


the more days pass by, the more I discover I’ve never been loved in my early years and so it is so damn hard to share a love I’ve never had planted in me. I constantly have to fight for inspiration to be able to share this existence willingly.


and nobody understands how hard it is. to show up. to share myself with the world. I claim to love being invisible and in the background, silently observing joy flutter abundantly. but truthfully, I find myself immensely undeserving of participation. 


I’m given chances to enliven myself and that is what I’m utmost grateful for. but in parallel, I wonder if I’ll ever learn how to love.


I wonder if we can undo what had been done ruthlessly. I do not want to live in the past, but it prances on me in an attacking demeanour I never knew I had. 


I’m afraid I wasn’t meant to be happy in this lifetime. I’m afraid that it will never be how it was before. I’m afraid that I will never see myself deserving of love.

going with grace in an inscrutable world.

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