it's cows

㋡🥀

There will always be a part of me that won’t be able to NOT consider what could happen, because I’ve seen things that should never happen. Some part of me will remain vigilant until the day I no longer exist, and some other part of me will quietly praise that vigilance because it has kept me safe. The part of me that holds onto hope for the good in life is heavily guarded, deep inside. Sometimes, it’s being so well protected from the darkness that I don’t even know it’s there.

And I just wanted to give my own answer to the question, “If there is no hope left, then what drives us to continue?”

The part of me that remains vigilant screams out, “Spite!”

The quiet part of me internalizes the externality of my own existence and the reality of the world.

And the part that holds onto hope loosens her grip ever so slightly to allow the tiniest shard to slip through her fingers; for myself, for someone else, for nothing at all and for everything all at once.

This world is dark and cold; the people in it even colder. When we find any sort of warmth, we attach, cling, claw, beg. Sometimes the world sees that and it sends a chill to slow our progression.

Sometimes it leaves us stranded in the middle of a storm that we can’t see our way out of. No shelter, no breaks in wind, no mercy. The people around us will tell us it is our responsibility alone to figure a way out. To find the warmth. To keep moving.

It isn’t fair, it’s completely unjust. To have to heave around the weight that someone else packed onto us.

But they tell us that because they simply aren’t strong enough to help carry the weight. We are heavy. Dense. Overflowing. So it only makes sense. And that can leave us feeling colder than before and so utterly alone.

Then comes in the part of me that just.. doesn’t care. She wants to lie down and let the weight overtake her, bury her underneath it all. Let it consume, control, and ultimately destroy. She herself has become the cold, the dark.

But none of the other parts of me look at her that way. She is the only part of me that sees herself that way. The other parts of me don’t care how cold and dark she may be, they only see her as just another part of me, even though she was created from torment.

A part that needs to see the kindness, the light; to feel the warmth. So they team up and they work in overdrive to shield, and to show. Some day, that warmth and light that these parts of me continue to fight for will reach deep enough to allow the darkness in me to be illuminated, the cold will melt away and I will not feel so heavy and so empty at the same time.

One day, I’ll wake up and the part of me that protects my hope will be jumping with joy and I will be so confused by her empty arms.

The quiet part will pry open her mouth and let out a laugh.

The vigilant part will be resting in the corner, watching over me with reverence for it all.

And the part of me that was born out of the monsters and injustices of this world will be covered head to toe in bandages, wrapped safely in a love that is unconditional. She will be healing. She will be getting better. She will be warm.

On that day, I will smile so big my cheeks will ache. My heart will flutter up my throat and all of the love I’ve been denied and subsequently denied myself of will flow out like a sickness and infect everyone around me. I will radiate the warmth I’ve searched for for so long, and I’ll be far too hot for sorrow to touch.

I’ll stand taller, walk prouder, and know that I am NOT broken, and I never was.