Every thought is a thought of you.

My thoughts melt away as I fall into it like a memory. I spill milk all over the floor, but I do not cry.

Or maybe going back to the beginning is the thing within me, within all of us. Whatever motherlands have kissed our DNA or sewn up our heart inside of us with nimble, divine hands. I wonder if this desire to go against tradition was inherent in any of my mother’s mothers’ mothers, and how it fought with her desire to protect herself and stay safe.

How many of them swallowed this same question? How many of them felt it rise up and chose silence instead? I do not judge them for that. Survival has always had its own logic.

However, there is absolutely something unfinished moving within me. Something that did not get to speak then, asking to be spoken now.

Ohh looky here, BINGO!

And a blank version if you want to fill it out too ~