Everyday Aspergers: A Journey on the Autism Spectrum by Craft Samantha

Author:Craft, Samantha [Craft, Samantha]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: YOUR STORIES MATTER
Published: 2019-01-30T16:00:00+00:00

87. Note to the Little One

My wounded one, I see you . I see you there crying alone. I see you with your hands pressed against your fragile skin; your endless wonderment less chariot than dungeon, your blizzard mind a target for jagged daggers. Though you are fearful and doubled down with fear, though you are strangled, the agony rising and choking dragon from within, I see you; I see you there crying alone. I see you with your heart set out for all, freshly pierced and bled out upon your sleeve. Your efforts ignored, your desires stifled, your wishes buried with the agony and trembles. Your dreams trampled, your journey unknown, the light dimming and dimming. Though the isolation suffocates and pulls you further inward. Though the ground sinks beneath, trapping you in what can only be hell, I see you; I see you there crying alone. I see you, the streaks of your past spread across the room and painted black on each wall. Your moment passed, your joy forgotten, your answers diminished, a sunrise never set, your sense of isolation churning and twisting, your path unknown in its familiar confusion. Though the images of the future be blurred and joy feels beyond reach. Though the exhaustion breathes alive and misery claims you as chained companion, I see you; I see you there crying alone. I see you, your swollen eyes, your swollen love, your swollen wants and needs. Your sadness pouring and pounding out in waves, your veins split open and pouring hurt, your flesh a painful reminder of who you are and who you are not. Though you are crushed and beaten, bombarded by questions and uncertainty. Though abandonment seems certain and slumber your necessary avenue of escape, I see you; I see you there crying alone. I see you my sibling of this strange land, captive to the unknown hauntings. Your strength burdened with heaviness, your view one of bleakness and doom. Your begging a desperation born into being, your emptiness still empty. Though you be an injurious child, nailed to what appears to be destiny. Though you be a fallen star, burned out and spread upon the masses as aged ash, I see you; I see you there crying alone. I see you my precious earth traveler, your shoes worn, your feet bruised. Your image I hold, as I hold the most cherished of nature’s treasures. Your journey I behold, as I behold the purifying waters of a revisited well. Though we be apart, I recognize you as my equal warrior. Though we be separate, I recognize you as my equal healer, for I see you; I see you there crying alone. I see you there calling out in the whispers of your silent ache, your beauty penetrating the deepest portion of my own existence, your strength fueling the carved-out substance of life that has surrendered. Though you feel blinded, your gift of being grants me the capacity to carry on. Though you feel

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