Emmawynn, Words Unspoken

Choices, identity, morals. I have seen you rush through terrain that looked right. Or did it just look normal? Accepted?

You're not going to fit with normal, darling.

Though something I admire is how smooth you make it look on the outside. Your training? A pain for you, a chore? A prison you wish to burst free from? Or is it something you take pride and pleasure in? I have wanted to find out, but I don't think you know the answer yourself, yet. For now, I think it is both. That is why you are purple.

Choices, identity, morals. 

You like to look tidy, and you race against yourself. It is like my own recklessness, but it is restlessness in you. That colour purple will never let you sit still. Comfort is for tamer tones. You want to be neat and perfect immediately, but when will you stop and practice the skills? Again and again your shell falls apart, but before it does I can see - and I think you can, too - what it might look like, one day when it doesn't.

You place so much pressure upon yourself, and you hide what you feel needs to be hidden that you miss how strong you are when you are tired. When you stop trying. When the real you breathes out. 

I met her in the first few moments we spoke. Emmawynn, the strong woman who did what she needed to do. The woman who had come through too much to even think of shame to tell me of it. The woman who thought I was a passing stranger at a wilderness dance. Now, you know our paths go on ahead, side by side. The others need you, you need them, and you, and they, have made my life better. That lesson alone is one it took your words to teach me, and how free you were by the falls that day.

That is the real Emmie. The Emmie who questions, who examines and learns faster than I do, and with formal details. Vain, gorgeous, languid in freedom, and with the uncanny ability to slip into that colour blue. The one you carry with you; the one you know well and will find again in balance. The colour that desires to give to others.

You were hurt by it in the past. But you are purple, and for all its pain and cost, it will protect you.

You'll perfect it all, and be easy with it all, when you have healed, Emmie. When you realise you are less breakable when you pack away the method. When you can let your heart see light and fly, not out of fatigue and letting go. Instead, in freedom, will. Laughter and intention.

Just feel, just be.

You aren't a killer darling. You aren't a princess, either. 

You are a sage who is running too fast, with too many books. And you are a woman of pride, running with a band of misfits.

Make your mistakes. Stumble, fall, and rise like you do, with that grace and flow I know never leaves you.

Choices, identity, morals.

Keep dancing like you do.