I still like the way lavender blooms, the way it smells, the way it lingers on my skin and saturates my face with a glow of happiness.. And so does she; my old self, the self that didn’t tear herself to pieces. I see her in my sleep, she stitches up my wounds and grows lavender in my mind. I feel it. She’s still there. I catch her in the corner of my eyes while I’m enjoying a coffee and awakening myself to the beautiful surroundings that is life, or when I laugh so hard I crinkle my nose, or when I dance alone in my bedroom. I read over her shoulder, the happiness, it shows in every line, in every curve and crack. I still smell the lavender plants for her, every single one I walk past, to try to bring her back, but it’s not working, I’m losing grasp of her, she’s going, she’s leaving, I’m afraid lavender plants will never smell the same again. I’d like to write a letter to her, to my old self; to my soul.. My soul so gentle and caring, I need to write a letter to you, for you enjoy the way lavender blooms and grows. I’d give you my letter in the hope you can hear me, in the hope you can see my plead for you. I’d write something like..
Dear my soul,
I can’t hear you loud enough behind all that noise inside my head, I think you need to shout louder. I hear your gentle whispers but all the other clutter is too loud for me to hear you. I’d like to cut me open to let you free, for I don’t think you deserve the imprisinment behind a mind gone crazy. But I’m afraid I can’t. One day I will be able to hear you. Sometimes I do. You tell me to smell the flowers and smile at strangers. I hear you in my heart. One day I want you to shout so loud you scare the demons out of my head. I want you to tell me who I am and why I’m here, I’d like to sit down in a quiet room with you and let your whispers echoe through my ears. I haven’t heard you much yet, I haven’t found you completely yet, but I will one day. I promise you, I will.
I’d seal the letter up and place a golden heart stamp to seal it perfectly, I ‘do give it to my soul and let her read between every line. For I think we’re all fighting, we’re all trying, we’re all searching for the people we once were before our mental illness sent a shiver of darkness down our spine and Ito our hearts. We’re all just searching for our souls behind all the clutter. And we will find it, we will heal, for although we are not okay just yet- we are here, we are beating, and we are breathing and we have still got time to figure this out. From my heart to yours- to all the soul searchers and lavender lovers out there.