Unlearning Anticipation

I am unlearning how to anticipate. This is what my body knows. Your breath, his stare, a twitch in their finger, they are pulses inside of me. I move when you do not out of synchronicity but out of synapse.

My childhood is blank pages. Is fistfulls of decay given by parents for comfort. My child's body was an afterthought. For her. For Him. And I don't know what safety meant for me. I cannot recall how I knew his body or if I did. I do not know if I ran from him or just stayed still.

I don't know when this body died. This body that was never mine. Don't know when it became just dull tissue this mind/soul was housed in. I remember nothing of pain or pleasure. But there were hard lessons in anticipating what nobody should ever have to see coming. A blow, a love, a leaving. My chest has since been slow stone. Calm, ready. Not to be pitied. Not lacking. This is rooted resilience and won't be apologized for.

But still I am unlearning how to anticipate. Because there is a humynity to be developed and a faith in softening. Because my body craves a different kind of electric and is worthy of resurrection.