I find myself crying. With the ease of my own fragility, my sadness and pain bubble to my surface. Squeezing my chest and throat, tightness of breath, fear flaring my nostrils, tears rising salt sting into the corners of my eyes. I have no controls these days, moments; no mechanism to pull, turn, or switch.
Still, I act. My mind, neuro-not-typical, its beautiful intelligence, rapid fire thoughts, abundance of acts. I perform at length, all day. I prepare myself for routine and cope ahead for impromptu. While I must plan to eat, nourishment also comes with impulse.
When I can, I reach. My heart, velvety vulnerable, genuinely flawed, desires to connect, contribute. I avail my self, my love, my beloved ones. Wealth of a simple message from the heart, to the ones who it beats for.
Missives of validation, gratitude, affirmation, adoration. A reminder. Each message, it’s not an expectation, not a tacit request. It is an effort at contribution. An act of creation.
A world in which I can cry and still contribute.