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in your own lap.

do you know what sitting in your own lap looks like? it looks like you were the one that had to understand the adults (and their motives) from when you were small. that it was their game and their rules for you to learn. they didn’t have to understand you; you were the one that had to figure it out. you had to hear their trauma and sort the dirty laundry even as this burned a new and different trauma in you.

and even if it didn’t, even if it simply awakened the karma you yourself had packed for lunch, it still hurt. of course it did. it hurt that their feelings mattered more than yours. it hurt that you would always know more about them and their stories than they would ever know about you, for you.

you learned how to be the big spoon. so you went around looking for little spoons. because you knew what it was like to always be holding and never held. you would never want the people you (would come to) love experience that—so help you God. and of course that’s not what they wanted. so it was lonely. there wasn’t ever anyone’s lap you could crawl into. maybe for a second, sometimes? but they’d immediately want to switch and you just didn’t have the heart to say “no.” it would not have been possible. because that’s not your heart.

either way, what you noticed was that not a lot of people wanted to stay in your arms for too long, anyway. so you got good at it. knowing that all days have a number, you held people when they came, with all your might. you learned to make every house a home, even the worst ones. but let me tell you that one day, you will find yourself home, alone, somewhere beautiful. somehow having built a little life that feels a lot like the lap you always wanted.