She took it in, the notion of time, the great healer of all that holds her down, a constant state of feeling the weight of a posthumous joke, only she is still breathing and the laughter is lost on her.
She parts the drapes to feel the sun, in spite of the chill, she opens the window, draws a deep breath, allows the sound of early morning birds to fill her ears. She remembers his voice, bringing in the dawn, wrapping her up before disappearing,
she believed he wanted to stay…but he didn’t.
She finds it hard to remember what he sounds like, his voice now whispers in another ear, ushering in the light, not leaving in the dark the way he did with her. Maybe she doesn’t know how to let light in, preferring the comfort in the heaviness of midnight’s cloak, shielding her from the vulnerability love brings when exposed by the mourning hours.
She recently decided to quit trying to figure it all out. She is told to keep moving, but that is all she has ever done, for now, she stands still, time no longer matters, she looks into the sky, maybe some day she will know what it is like to fly, but in this moment after a long harsh winter, she stands still, waiting for spring to fill her senses with all it will bring, maybe…
maybe flying has less to do with wings and more to do with believing the possibility exists.
BAN March 29, 2015 11:04 am