This is a beginning that will be repeated again and again and again.
This is a story that is being retold, the same but new
Beginning is the oldest thing you know how to do
Again, again, again.
As messy and painful as all births are
From bright light at the end of a tunnel where the dark
Becomes a circle of black shrinking into the full stop at the end of a chapter about
to be retold
Beginning again makes me feel so old.
Telling myself again upon waking
The story that is me.
These are my hands
This is my life
These are my choices
Do not forget
Lists of things you regret not already scratching out
Forgetting about the journey forgetting about the chapters already told already survived
Madness and stars and someone reaching out to tell you
That they know what it feels like to have galaxies like yours burning in their mind
Silly how we say that it’s been a long day,
A long week, a very, very long year as if it’s every more or less as if misfortunes
are the fault of time.
Too much not enough
It begins again and again
We cling to childish things but there’s no shame it that.
Do not put away childish things for the look of it.
Become a child as many times as you need to know what it means to grow.
In Irish ionanálú means inspiration and that something that makes you breathe in.
So write a list of aspirations, dreams and the drawing in of breath.
Breathe in a new beginning, again and again and again.
Athbhlian faoi mhuise agaibh go léir.
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