Five Minute Friday

Five Minute Friday  Even though I am away from home today, I can’t miss a Five Minute Friday.  I need this community that meets on Thursday nights for the #FMFPart Twitter Party like I need air.  In the middle of the hilarity and the fun is a beautiful community of writers who will come up and around you every single week.  There is comfort in this and it opens the door to bravery.  The rules are fairly simple.  One word.  Five minutes. No backtracking. No over-editing.  The only other rule and this one is absolute: leave a little blog love on the person who linked up just before you because every writer wants to know they been heard.

LONELY 
GO

Lonely used to scare me.  I would do everything I could to curl away from it.  Arch my back in defiance to the deafening silence and wish for activity, anything that would take me a way from myself.  
I think I spent too many years in lonely, not lonely by choice, but a forced lonelieness.  Grade School was a nightmare, and isolation became my nemisis.  No matter how much I begged or pleaded, wore the right clothes, begged THE right haircut, I couldn’t get over the fact that I was lonely.  F.B.I.  That’s what they would write on the backs of their fists and every time I came near they would brandish those fists like a sheild.  I was the flea bag and that stamp emblazzoned on the backs of their hands was their insurance from my cooties.  
It wounded, it hurt and to be truthful it still does.
As I grew up, I became that “in your face” kid the one who would say or do anything to be liked and to be loved.  I remember the first time I drank until I couldn’t remember.  The first time I choked on the drag from a cigarette all in hopes of silencing the lonelieness.   You could chalk those experiences, I suppose, to adolecsent exploration, but I think it went deeper than that for me, I think for me I needed to fit in and I accomplished that with a singular focus. 
But as I grew older and even now I am not so afraid of the loneliness.  The silence that comes from the waiting, the wondering and the beholding.  In fact, the need for lonely in me often find me craving the warm mug, the warm blankent, the comfy chair and silence. 
This new lonely has shifted from cruelty to a quiet thrum of self awareness that has me marveling more at all that is around me.  The way the yellow finch flits from branch to branch, the sound the purple cone flower makes as the wind rushes through their stems.  The crickets’ song rising out of the garden providing the sountrack to this solitary time.  
And now even as I sit I am basking in the lonely, taking comfort in the fact that while I am alone, I am not lonely.
STOP
 This is where I sat to write this post.  All of that beauty keeping me company! 


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