slipping through my hands.

No matter what happened… I always had this sense of knowing where I am …who I am …somehow I always was able to grab myself. It was the last piece of control I had left. Control over myself…When life was slipping through my fingers, there was this one place that was always controllable and it gave me a sense of safety. A safety I never felt over anything that was happening.

This life was given,

circumstances happened,

I lost people without a choice.

There is this eternal longing of coming home. To me, resting meant stripping myself of weakness and flaws I did not allow myself to have.

I was scared of falling. Of becoming the chaos that raged out- and inside. Of being wild. Of loosing myself. Loosing overview… control… letting myself be.

And here I am. Once again realizing that everything I was holding onto slipped through my fingers. I failed at doing the right thing more times than I can count.

And still I am not ready to let go of what I do not have.

But what if. what if it is okay to lose control. to lose overview. To get lost.

If there is hope that i will be found again, I am willing to fall.

Teach me how. teach me how to fall. I am an orphan not knowing what it means to leave the duty of safetiness in the hand of another persons soul.

I never learnt to. Never learnt to let go of control. Such a sad thing that the one thing I could control was the only fragile heart I got and I didn’t allow it to crumble… to fall… to grieve…

Because I knew it is an ocean, uncontrollable. An unquenchable fire that has it's own way of moving.

I was scared it would never chose to move on. That instead I would drown.

And here I am. finally ready to learn how to fall. Fall into feelings, falling into failing like everyone else around me, hoping that I will be found again. In every place i once forbid myself to fall short of the person i expected myself to be.