the breath of solitude

Being single after a serious long-term relationship is like slowly peeling off your winter coat. You’ve pulled it snugly around your frame for months (years, really), hugging it tightly as a daily reminder of protection and security; clutching it vigorously during the worst of storms; shedding it gently in heated homes as you’re greeted with warm tea only to return it to your shoulders a few hours later just as secure and comforted as before.

Then softly, subtly, the scent in the air changes and the weather with it. You slowly roll up your sleeves and unnerved, begin to slink shoulders out into the unforgiving light.

After a series of comforting affairs with jackets and sweaters, your arms are bare, free and pale. Collecting sweet freckles from each new moment.

You bask in the newness and freshness of solitude. Yet, inward gnawings of wildflower growth can shake even the most deeply planted roots. The world can seem unstable and unpredictable for a girl, no matter how wild you are.

So you slough off the layer of doubt as you dive into oceans & books & people with the same insatiable voracity typically reserved for children. You’ll laugh with shoulders bare, running to nowhere in particular.

Your chest pulls toward the sky as you run with tipped-toes, arms open, and fists full of wild sunflowers.

And with a warm sigh you release, letting them fly with the breeze, one by one.
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