{"id":63,"date":"2025-09-05T09:40:05","date_gmt":"2025-09-05T09:40:05","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/theserenesaint.com\/?p=63"},"modified":"2025-09-05T09:49:43","modified_gmt":"2025-09-05T09:49:43","slug":"elementor-63","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/theserenesaint.com\/index.php\/2025\/09\/05\/elementor-63\/","title":{"rendered":"Elementor #63"},"content":{"rendered":"\t\t
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Mathilde<\/h2>\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t
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Mathilde is my name. M-A-T-H-I-L-D-E. 8 letters, 5 consonants, 3 vowels. That is all I\u2019m made of, that<\/p>

is all what I was made for \u2013 to spell out my name and dive into it, a hundred times a day, because<\/p>

nothing beyond it makes sense inside these walls. I live in a cave, the cave is my home. Cavewoman<\/p>

is what they call me; I embrace the word now.<\/p>

Although time has got no relevance here, I sleep, eat, and weep at the same hours, every day.<\/p>

Like a lunatic, trying to make sense of the senseless. Pushed inside these walls I was, part by force,<\/p>

part by choice. To escape these walls now, is a conundrum I find hard to indulge myself in. A mighty,<\/p>

mighty conundrum. So, I sit, and I stare. I stand, and I stare. I eat, and I stare. I weep, and I stare \u2013<\/p>

the grey stones my home consists of.<\/p>

The agony inside of me makes no sense here, the squeals and wails I attempt to make, to ease out<\/p>

the agony \u2013 return to me, the sender, a thousand times mightier in amplitude. It doesn\u2019t matter,<\/p>

nothing matters anymore. It did, once upon a time, when I was out in the fields, sun on my face,<\/p>

wind in my hair \u2013 but, part by force, and part by choice, I live here now. The escape is a conundrum I<\/p>

cannot seem to indulge myself in. Mathilde is my name, I am Mathilde. I chant it, because it\u2019s the<\/p>

only thing the walls failed (terribly) to take away from me. Perhaps, there is more left in me, than<\/p>

what I can imagine.<\/p>

I was deep into my slumber, I am sure of it \u2013 what woke me up, startled me from the dreams, my<\/p>

only refuge? Rage fills me up, but before I can utter a single syllable out from these parched lips, the<\/p>

grey stones start crumbling and falling down, like the droplets from a wet cloth wrung too hard.<\/p>

They fall down, and keep falling down, till my head, for the first time in a long time, is covered by the<\/p>

sky. The actual, mighty sky. Not the carvings of clouds and birds I made on the grey stones, to mimic<\/p>

the sky \u2013 no, the real, mighty, an astonishingly beautiful blanket of white and blue, so intricate, so<\/p>

delicate, that I fall down on the ground at its first glance. The beauty struck me like nothing struck<\/p>

me before.<\/p>

The grey stones sleep around me – once herculean figures, reduced to mere dust at my feet today.<\/p>

I\u2019m not fully aware of what broke the cave down, the sight of the sky hints at a thunderstorm, but no<\/p>

calamity has been strong enough to break down the walls, that is, before today. I don\u2019t even know<\/p>

what day it is, but I am Mathilde. Mathilde is my name. I\u2019m made up of 8 letters, 5 consonants, 3<\/p>

vowels. I was put in there, part by force, part by choice \u2013 but the nature solved the conundrum for<\/p>

me \u2013 escaped I have.<\/p>

I\u2019m tearing up, my eyes can\u2019t seem to stay dry for more than a second, no matter how many times I<\/p>

wipe them off. I gulp down the air voraciously, I let the sun sit on my arms, my face, my legs, my<\/p>

weak, but resilient, body that managed to escape out of the falling stones with mere cuts and<\/p>

scratches. Nothing, nothing compared to what I faced inside those grey stones. Miracle, is what it is.<\/p>

I live here now, this is my home. The bright light wakes me up every morning, and the starry blanket<\/p>

covers me up at night, and just when I\u2019m parched, the rain falls down as a gift from the white clouds.<\/p>

Life, for the first time in a long time, makes me weep from joy, and not from agony. The crumbled<\/p>

pieces of my old home haven\u2019t forgotten me, though. They call out my name, 764 times a day,<\/p>

Mathilde, Mathilde, Mathilde. The absurd thing is, although their screams land upon my ears, my<\/p>

thoughts are making love with the life I\u2019m going to create, so delicately, so lovingly, so proudly.<\/p>

I\u2019d be lying if I say that the cries don\u2019t get to me, at times. They do, ferociously, astonishingly,<\/p>

worriedly, they do catch my attention \u2013 and I find myself spiralling down, and in my head I start<\/p>

putting each stone back to its original grey lover, building up the place that broke me down. What\u2019s<\/p>

familiar calls out to you, and it will \u2013 for the rest of your life. Comfort lies in familiarity, it lies in the<\/p>

familiar touch, the familiar smell, the familiar agony, the familiar tears \u2013 but the life out there, across<\/p>

the mountains, the rivers, the clouds, the fields, they call out for me \u2013 and I must run. For, Mathilde<\/p>

is my name, I am Mathilde – 8 letters, 5 consonants, 3 vowels. The life calls out for me, and I call out<\/p>

for my life, and together we run away, chanting just one name, all that there is, all that there was \u2013<\/p>

Mathilde, Mathilde, Mathilde.<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Mathilde Mathilde is my name. M-A-T-H-I-L-D-E. 8 letters, 5 consonants, 3 vowels. That is all I\u2019m made of, that is all what I was made for \u2013 to spell out my name and dive into it, a hundred times a day, because nothing beyond it makes sense inside these walls. I live in a cave,…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-63","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"aioseo_notices":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/theserenesaint.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/63","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/theserenesaint.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/theserenesaint.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/theserenesaint.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/theserenesaint.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=63"}],"version-history":[{"count":7,"href":"https:\/\/theserenesaint.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/63\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":70,"href":"https:\/\/theserenesaint.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/63\/revisions\/70"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/theserenesaint.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=63"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/theserenesaint.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=63"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/theserenesaint.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=63"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}