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.