Circle

Have we come full circle yet?
I wonder this now as these memories flood me.
Or, is this simply the end?
Though the end is only ever the beginning,
They are one in the same
Much like night and day
Yin and Yang - swimming in the same circle.



I remember everything best in the sunlight, imprinted in my mind like moving Polaroid productions. But much like dreams, the memories contain feelings, smells, comprehension that a photo does not. Most are so very sweet, so innocent and hopeful, full of life. I wonder if always I will create moments like this, capture them so nicely. Or will they eventually change, as everything does.

And for this we shall move onward in metaphor, for only there does the truth truly ring true and truest. To run through a field, in nothing but your feet, to feel your breath so difficult to catch , butterflies in a net. To sing at the top of your lungs, in treetops. To free all ambition into water floating bout the air , caressing skin so cream colored.

And here we become hesitant, stumbling over so many words, that really ever only meant something quite simple. Assumptions made, gambling fools, wasting way in the days that fade. "No, don't leave me please! Not yet not yet not yet" .

Sweet summer. The only time I am truly alive. Is it sweeter then, or would I be better off chasing it round the hemispheres? You've tried that, and I only run. SO might she you think? The green gone of fresh, too stale , heat sticky not love left high tied. Did the bag close itself for 9 months, or only 7? And all these  questions, do they make you weary? As they made the man before, and the woman before him.

Faster now, faster. Do you understand? Only you will do. We knew this all along, or at least I did. You, I still can't figure out, though that is what entices me so. You now, believe this is for you , but it is for him. It always was. I am sorry, I tried to tell you. It hurts me more, do you believe that? I would bleed a pool for you, or two. Though I would die. Which won't matter so much .

Found you there, under the foliage, huddling. What from I will never ask. Some things are better left unknown.

It's Coming

All the fabric fell to the floor, the silk and satin, the torn lace, in an elegant way. And as it lie there, in a small heap, it was as if it had never been more than that heap. Still I couldn't understand it. How could it be true? I had preached time and time before to bring all from a place of love, not a place of fear. But had I myself gotten those confused? Was I in fact watching that fabric dance to the ground for fear of holding onto it rather than fear of losing it?

I dropped to the floor, my tears dampening the cloth. Bewildered in the coming twilight, touching the stains softly, breathing in the scent of memories laced in the stitching. I had outgrown the heap, there were others to wear now. I couldn't wear them all on just my one body. Yet how bold and uncomfortable to be naked, no cover on skin so used to wearing it.

 I didn't know what to do, frozen as night fell, hunched over the fabric. I stayed there until morning came, my body stiff, my eyes tired. 

As the sun rose I felt something thawing within me. It was overwhelming and nearly took my breath away. I couldn't explain it, really. 

But in that moment there I stood. I blew a kiss to the fabric I once wore so passionately, then walked on. I pushed my way through double doors to the great rolling hills, so fresh and waking in the new light. I breathed in the air as I hadn't in so long. And though the pain swam about me, so did the liberation, the promise of something new. 

Perhaps all was more broken than I had every fathomed, than I could comprehend. Perhaps I was broken beyond recognition. But in this I knew; I was still alive. And home never meant the same thing to me, but you know that. I had set fire to you and watched you burn more than once. But always I wore your secret chains, invisible but so heavy. Never before had I walked away. I smiled. I thought there were no more Firsts left. Feet to grass I ran, so far, far from the mansion concealing the heap of my dark but passionate past. 

They always told me these things that I had to live by. They wrote about me in books and letters and magazines. They told me just who I was and what I would do and always I was indebted to all that was written. But how beautiful it was, when I changed it all. When I wrote it as I wanted it to be. And to do this, we both know time had run dry long ago, I had to turn and never look back. 

I will always love you. But nothing is truly infinite, nothing lasts forever, nothing in life, not even life itself. And in the beauty of the moment when two paths cross, when they dance under the moonlight, morning must come again. It is the value of the moment, the beauty of the goodbye, that makes it something real, that gives it substance. Not forever, my dear, not time, not when or even where. But just that it was, and it was, in it's time, so incredibly breathtaking that remembering it often makes me gasp. 

Walk on child, there is river yet to swim, love still to feel, ground yet to cover, fields still to parade. I believe this, do you? Because in the end, that is really all that matters. Do you believe? Nothing is impossible. Know it in your heart dearest love. In the very essence of your being, know that though you swim such dark and inky water, though all seems it is crashing down and the very thread of your being evaporated from the Earth, that you are a light in the blackness. You have the power to change this if only you will believe it. Let yourself trust that light can again exist. It does, you know. I have seen it in you. Let yourself. I was only ever a mirror.