Quiescent

I am a supernova, quiescent.

Belief in my own powers to dazzle is what keeps me resilient. Reminders that I am everything I have said, and promised and know to be true about myself and where I am meant to be purl in gilded loops around my conciousness.

I fill out forms. I enter data into online systems. I coordinate and send packets of electronic words, words and more words to people I will never speak to or meet.  Not that I want to meet them, really.

I curse the time I should have spent writing stupid things just to get my name in journals, instead of living in the beauty of my head, seeing the small things around me. So much time to be made up, so much to recover from.

How do you word that?

How do you say "Listen to the words amid the silences"

"My potential is not yet realized, but it will be. And when I burst forth, I will be incandescent."

Yet, all I can do is endure.

Wait for the ruby under my dusty countenance to shimmer and catch someone's eye.

And trust that it will all work out the way it should.