i contain multitudes
one life inside of me lives in the english countryside. she feeds her ducks, and only wears linen. her hair knows no heat damage, and her children know no anger. she learned how to garden, and how to bake. her floors are wooden, her feet are bare, and the windows are letting in a gentle breeze through her home. she is safe and warm.
another woman (the one who lives in the left side of my brain) lives in the heart of a busy city, where she rides in taxis and goes to pilates three times per week. she never gets married. her cat’s name is ophelia. she has a capsule wardrobe, a fantastic espresso machine, and a solid six figures.
yet another of my many lives carries a notebook and a camera with her at all times. she is an artist, a record keeper, and she kisses her friends’ cheeks when she says hello to them. her husband draws and also does photography, and holds her hand while they drive. she misses her siblings, but she’ll see them at thanksgiving. one day she’ll plant roots.
life number four moved home for post-grad. she sleeps in her childhood bedroom, in her childhood bed. she joined a dating app at her father’s urging, but no one’s stood out so far. she got a job, goes on walks, and the most exciting thing in her life is the bob she plans on getting cut. she gets coffee with her grandparents twice a week, and has three friends’ weddings coming up. she feels like life has passed her by.
has life passed me by?
