I sit and I’m awash with contentedness, my full midsection makes me smile, and causes my toes to pleasantly curl. I’ve not felt this comfortable warmth amid a toasty winter’s bedroom in what seems like forever – I welcome the feeling, note the lack of mental feud. For, to feel and be satiated, with no inkling of guilt present when lately it’s haunted, consumed me for so long, is to show signs of progress, normalcy, and a rightness of thought.
I feel a fire within my belly and a welcome drowsiness within my mind, lethargy is settling in, and regret is surprisingly hard to find. Whereas in the past, I’d pick and pick at my ‘weakness’ for allowing my capacity to slightly fill, I realise, I know now, I can make wiser choices, and this satiation I don’t have to begrudge, hate myself for, nor become angered or rage at myself as a drill.
I realise, to some, how petty my worries may seem, stupid, precious or ridiculous to those with little or no empathy, but disordered thinking compounded by years certainly has an effect, and this comfortability now is a breakthrough here, I’ll allow my smile to continue yet.
Still, balance must always be assumed, continually studied, and practiced, I cannot allow myself to become too comfortable, and make poor judgements, but, to be kinder to myself, it’s important as there is nobody else, no one here eternally, I am the one who must look after myself, my health, and my energy. Upon this path, it is so important for my journey, for my personal growth, and for my stability.
Sometimes life won’t be perfect no matter how much you will it, you adjust, you alter, you are adamant, yet plans, they falter, accept defeat, you must admit this.
It does not matter how much we carry wishes within us, there are moments which will simply flit out of the picture, the power within, the strength which hardens us can make us shudder, and suddenly there’s that shattering, the shattering of one’s perfect picture.
It shouldn’t matter that I can’t sit here and share all the rest, paint a scene for you to observe and for myself to reminisce, despite it all, despite my hopes, my dreams, I want to move forward, and become much more than that which I yearned for now and evermore,
a glass-stained picture which drips in brights, in hues, in yellows, in blues, and rectifies the scent of unwanted, sympathetic flowers, shall we begin anew?
Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose 
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