On the Garden with Missing Walls. On the Last One and the Ones That Will Follow

by HelluvaGirl

My heart used to be like a garden with sharp walls of pride and arrogance. For self-preservation purposes mostly, but that’s definitely something very noticeable when approached.

When we met, it surely didn’t feel like a wrecking ball. Nothing as brutal and destructive, or loud. Because that way, I would have noticed.

This morning after barely sleeping in a curled-up motionless pose for a few hours, after an attempt to finalise something crown on, with my macho buddies Rationality, Logic and Sarcasm, I see there are no walls around that garden any more. Just a hint of an old construction barely above the ground in places. But not more.

What do I do now, when I feel like a visitor in my own garden? Like someone who cannot unfeel any more? What do I do with the place with the sun never coming up?

I wrote tens of letters to you, including those after “the last one”. You read a tiny proportion of it and now it feels like I will have to write hundreds more to be able to breath looking at my garden in the dark.

How do I move on if I know the exact itinerary of my thoughts, and it’s only towards you?

I have never been here before. I have never seen my garden without the walls and I feel bare and certain that there is no way to recover from this. I wish I could jump to a moment in time five years from now and really see myself after a successful wall reconstruction, garden flourishing under a grow light, but then I can’t help wondering if the fall of the walls really had a mere purpose of being rebuilt? If they’re not, how do I live?

On the other hand, it feels comforting to face questions without having a clue – at least I feel like I don’t know everything. That illusion of ten steps towards a curtain, knowing I’ll see a wall when I draw it, is terrible and I live with it most of the time.

Well, not any more.

I can go anywhere in the world but you see, I have travelled well and learnt you always carry your heart and the one who lives there. It is hard for me to see the point in packing now.