I Miss The Grass

Today I realized..

I miss the grass.

I miss the way it called to me.

Welcomed me.

Embraced me.

The way it softened all my falls.

Let me sprawl out like a flower basking in the sun.

Raw and alive beneath my skin.

Itchy.. yes,

but honest.

We used to dive into it,

like it was the ocean,

we trusted it to catch us.

And it did.

No hesitation,

just open arms of something so unconditional,

and patient enough to hold children,

who didnt know how lucky they were to be held.

Barefoot bruises, 

scraped knees, 

tangled blonde hair,

blades of green stuck to our sweat-slick body,

dirt filled nails,

arms sprawled out in surrender to this earth,

to the weightlessness of youth,

and the bliss of the unknown.

But somewhere along the way,

I stopped lying down.

Stopped pressing my cheek to the heartbeat of the earth.

Started brushing it off, 

apologizing for the stains,

staying on the “right” path,

staying who other people wanted me to be.

I don’t remember the last time I surrendered,

Let it hold me.

Let the itch come.

Let the wind tangle my hair.

Let my thoughts spill like water,

until they soaked into the soil

and left me lighter.

Is that grief?

To forget something or someone that once held you without asking you to earn it?

I've forgotten.

But the grass..

It has not forgotten.

It waits with open arms.

Soft, wild and forgiving,

for the girl I buried

beneath years of noise.

For the version of me 

who didn’t shrink,

who didn’t fear being held,

who trusted the ground,

more than her own reflection.

And maybe, just maybe,

I’ll go lay with her again.

And this time,

I’ll stay awhile.