portrait of a life: evening

It is evening. Perhaps my favorite part of the day. My sound machine is on, set to the song of a summer night, and I welcome the buzz of cicadas as they remind me of being a kid, being free. Whirling with the sound is the annoying squeak of my ceiling fan and the ruffles of Daisy as she tries to find a comfortable position to lie down.

My bedroom smells of sheets fresh from the dryer and my favorite candle. Stacked on the floor by my bed is a few books, my journal, and my Bible. I may not touch any of them tonight but I find comfort in knowing they are there if I want them.

I settle. I stretch, moving toes across the sheets as I unfurl. I got tangled up today – in anxiety, in fear, in self-condemnation and stress and to-do lists.

I cried in the bathroom at work today, tears blending with my makeup and matting my vision. I looked in the mirror after, puffy and red-eyed, blonde lashes bare and blinking at their own reflection. What a sight to behold.

I came home, made dinner, bathed my dog, and slipped under the covers. Of all the rooms in my home, my bedroom is one of my favorites. It feels to be the safest space to just… unravel.

Like a spool of yarn, running squiggling lines in its likeness across the floor as it rolls aimless.

I take a deep breath, unwind. Today just… swallowed me up. I breathe now.

There’s little clatter on the street outside my window and somewhere distant a dog barks faintly. I hear in my head the words from a hymn: “Abide with me; fast falls the eventide; the darkness deepens; Lord, with me, abide.”

It is evening and I am okay.

And I will begin again tomorrow.

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