In my clothes, in the words i use when i talk to somebody, in the silence passing trough long insomniac nights.
A holagram of all the little recognizable pieces of Sara, not quite fitting into the human figure.
I imagine my hands opening, breathing in hope and letting go out all those sore memories of the past, waving goodbye to all the misty ghosts of guilt and sorrow.
So easy to forgive others, so hard to be kind to my own skin.
But i am opening my hands and letting go of this sharp heavy rock i have carried for so long.
And it is happening now.