Beginning again, again, again

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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.

Beginnings are births as messy and painful or sometimes

Bright light at the end of a tunnel

The darkness behind 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

Still alive in a year that lost so many silly how we say that

It’s been a long day, a long week, a very long year as if it’s ever more or less as if misfortunes are the fault of time.

Too much not enough

It begins again and again

And then

We cling to childish things but there is 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 truly 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 again again.

Athbhlian faoi mhuise agaibh go léir.

1 comments on “Beginning again, again, again”

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