Help, being offered an olive branch.
Being offered an olive branch beautifully embodies the feeling of receiving one. The feeling of being prodded with a sharp and hard to navigate stick, which you know deep down has nutrition and sustenance. Yet the thought of taking a bite is sickening.
The olive, polished essential oils with a hard cornerstone of truth.
Why does asking or accepting help feel so hard? Is it defeat, or admitting you can’t cope. The want to solider on, without a shoulder to march with you. There is bliss in the self, the warmth of self achievement and knowing that you have done it. I wander what it feels like to share that? Could it be boiling hot or simply luke in comparison.
I don’t want to admit defeat, not quite yet. I have more to sacrifice and more to give. How low can I go? The walls feel deep but I can still see light at the top. I’m scared once the warmth and glow of the light goes it won’t come back, but the darkness excites me. I wander what I will learn if I peer into it, if only for a moment and not eternity.
I feel comfort at night, the world is calm, quiet and the chill awakes my senses reminding me of life through numbness. It’s nice to feel, to feel something over nothing. How easy it is to feel meek in meek weather.
Maybe I will dip my metaphorical bread, it might taste nice. I never liked olives as a child, too bitter, too grown up.