i gave it away

i gave away my microwave today. tomorrow, all my forks will be gone. i've sent a humidifier on it's way, a table or two, and a lot of sheets. and clothes. some books, but not the ones that are allowed. a few bits of useless jewelry, some candles.

i'm wondering if there's a point when the calmness overcomes the movement. when it becomes like swimming - not blank and motionless, but smooth and quiet and flowing, instead.

my mother asked me if i regretted anything. i know what she meant. instead, i said "i'd have regretted not taking the good mattress. so no."

it's never going to feel like a romance novel. i'm done with that. i think people romanticize power dynamics beyond what it can encompass. what we do isn't easy, or slight, or even usually ideal, but who can claim that their life is easy these days?

what i'm getting rid of is a lifetime of preconceived notions and uncomfortable expectations. as close as i can to coming to you with merely my skin.

and in a way, so are you.