ACQUIESCENCE

the reluctant acceptance of

something without protest.

THE DAILY EXPRESS. LOWER THAMES STREET, LONDON

ACQUIESCENCE ON A QUIET SUNDAY

A second Sunday passes

And the world is quiet.

 

But I’m sitting on the window sill

Thanking everyone for everything.

 

Everything they’ve given me

That prepared me for this moment.


 

Grateful for my Pop

Who taught me how to ride a bike

How to be generous

How to enjoy the sound of the birds.

 

Grateful for my Nan

Who taught me how to bake scones

How to knit a scarf

How to figure out a sudoku puzzle.

 

Grateful to my parents

Who taught me how to be proud of myself

How to use a film camera

How to be kind to others

How to be positive.

 

Grateful to my brother

Who taught me the joy of finding adventure close to home

How to be thick skinned

How to be confident in my decisions

How to keep going, to not give up.

 

Grateful to my best friend

Who taught me how to be honest with myself

How to laugh at myself

How to forget about time by the seaside

How to be completely present.

 

Grateful to my mentor

Who taught me how to see burdens as blessings

How to find my passions and pursue them

How to find and heal myself

How to create stillness through yoga.

 

Grateful to every relationship that didn’t quite work

For teaching me how to enjoy my own company

How to be honest and kind

How to fearlessly travel alone on a whim

How to treat others with softness and respect

(Despite how much someone may have hurt you).

 

Grateful to every friend 

Who taught me to sing at the top of my lungs at a concert,

Who taught me how to dance

Who taught me the definition of unconditional love

Who taught me to back myself

Who taught me how to show up for myself and others, always.


 

Grateful

That I have been given the space

To see it all.

 

London. March 22

ACQUIESCENCE, KANDINSKY POSTCARDS FROM PARIS TO SELF, ONENESS.

Oh my god, is it okay to be this in love with my life?

Is it okay to be this alone?

Is it okay to whistle as I ride my bike through Paris?

Is it okay to think of absolutely nothing but the next direction and the music in my ears for a while?

Will that be okay forever?

Will that be okay in two hours? Two years?

Is it okay if I stay in this state of oneness for a while?

Is it okay that everyone is me? And I am everyone?

And we're all just existing in the same place, same time, same way?

I hope that's okay.

At least, here in Paris, it is okay, if only just on a sunny Saturday.

Paris, March 07.

By Sophie Peterson.

All work is my own unless otherwise stated.

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