Simmering In The Swell

I am swollen; with emotion, with love, with a mind roving at 83 miles per hour. I am thinking of letting myself burst. Not yet. Not yet. Maybe soon.

I have spent so much time, God, so much time holding myself back, keeping my dream-soaked soul in a box. The reasons are commonplace. The excuses, boring and tinged with wisps of apathy. There have been too many small thoughts of what I would lose, not what I would gain should I dare to polish my essence and shine it three hundred sixty degrees.

But now, I am swollen. Because of a man, a how-did-this-happen choice of a man. He is pulling my soul out of its box and daring me to examine the facets, the gifts I have not yet revealed to even myself. I am in the throes of teenage crush giddiness, yet I am calm and assured as a woman in love for forty years.

I am in new territory and I am happy to be here. Let me be clear, I asked to be here. Ripe with possibility, courageous enough to let go of what is in order to embrace the glorious, yet-to-be-known. I am simmering in the swell. I am preparing myself to burst the box. I am acquainting myself with my own brand of shine.


{p.s. I have heard from the Gypsy King twice since he had to leave. He is well and I have been a giddy fool each time I've heard his voice.}