You and I are
different, we have seldom been able to understand each other. When I pull you
pull harder, when I settle you look for ways to keep roaming. There are
instances when our paths cross, for brief moments, for just seconds at a time. This
has been going on for far too long. I used to be good at it, you used to relish
the moments. By now I have lost the
ability to savor your flash like recurrences. Once it was easy, even your
glittering white could be perfectly made out in winter’s deep snow. Not for all
the others, just for me. I could always see. You had the talent of singling me
out, showing your beauty only to me. It was pure beauty, inside and out. I
still feel at times the breeze of possibility, the unfading hope that things
can go back to how they were. That the road we have travelled has no end, never
had an end and we can resume the lonely, sometimes tiresome, ultimately fateful
journey that we once began. Began so reluctantly, so freely.
I have no way of
telling what you cling to, how your desires match the actions of your life. If
they match at all. Mine are lost, at times decipherable, mostly just curl to
any lingering line that makes these knots of cacophony. Then the music carries
me to safety. Music that is melodious and beatless, quiet and sorrowful in its
entirety. If stillness meant happiness then I could keep it, really hold it
down, nurture it, give my all and more. If in stillness you had the capacity to
return, then I could have you, I could really hold you. I move no more. I am
rooted not chained. In sadness and through fateful decisions I have been
motionless to your roaming. I have a home to love but not you.
I wait. I wait for
night to descend, for the stars to appear before I take flight. I am surprised
how well I see in the dark. Every little detail, every nook of every stone
unturned, every shy brook. Every den kept warm by the rhythmic breathing of
beasts of all sizes. Through the haze I see tops of trees, leaves about to
fall, mountains glowing silver from the beams of the moon. Then the waters,
oceans that sway swiftly. Shining with careless assurance, knowing that no
force can change the course of nature. I see the boundless opportunity in each
growing bud, in each newly formed pond, in every being coming to existence. I
see this all, but I cannot see you. Not even a flash, not even the sense of
you. Not even the breeze of your hurried ways, nothing to say that I should
search longer.
But I hold on, not to
you any more, but to the me I have come to know since you have been gone. There
were no promises except the ones that were dutifully kept. I cannot place blame
when neither of us is to blame. We stay connected. Through threads underground,
unseen. Through wires that are hidden, running above the skies, below the
earth. Forever we are connected by these vessels, by those instances when the
world burned for you and me. I walk
alone, may always stay alone. You walk in a two and will always stay a two. The
mighty owl sleeps through the horrors of the day and comes to life in darkness.
Spreads its magnificent wings to cover the mistakes made by the
sunlight, made by the day.
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