Nothing is ever what it seems. My life is as cryptic as the words I write. Often people ask me what and who my words are about. I’m haunted by what I can create in my mind – what flows through my tired hands on white new pages. I can create the most beautiful scenes the most amazing stories, but it lives in a tattered worn notebook by the side of my bed. I exist merely in words. There are no happy endings without words – just fluttering moments like butterflies or the shift of the wind. We get moments of what could be and what will always be…Then the very movement of the world creates a shadow of what is. How I wish and long for the super power to freeze time outside of my pages. How I would suspend the moments that made me feel hopeful and alive and wallow in them. I would bask in the sunlight of each sliver of human kindness, of passion, of love, and most of all of feeling. The kind of feeling that does not judge, does not hold back does not challenge. It just is. I would laugh at those who told me this was a lesson – all things I am learning – this too shall pass. I would just freeze time and exist for awhile in my safe place. I would see them all there – those who inspired me and made me feel whole when I was a shell. I would smile but say nothing as I walked past them. I'm walking down a long stream barefoot in a spring meadow filled with yellow flowers for miles. I'm looking for someone in particular - the one I look for most these days. Seeing in the distance a form alone just past the trees I hesitate and soak in the feeling of who I know is waiting there. Slowly... holding my breath I would carefully step closer. I would join and sit with my shadow friend for awhile – just exist with him suspended in a moment and the past would play like a video tape before us – only the good parts – the parts when I felt alive and less tired and worn. The parts when real life and it’s real 'worlds' didn’t collide. Nothing shatters on the river bank near my stream. There is only moss covered trees that sway with an inviting breeze, muttering glittering pools of clear crisp waters rolling over rounded rocks, the smell of new soil and green foliage, and the promise that love can truly conquer all. “I don’t want to go back” I mutter to the shadow friend beside me. “Do we really have to go back?” I ask the silence. I know the answer. I always know the answer. What if this time I can’t dusk off my knees and return for another round. What if I can’t keep moving forward when there feels like there is nothing to move forward too? Cowardly, I hide behind all good things blocking out my reality. My shadow friend shifts. His brilliant face tilts and sad blue glass eyes look back at me. He will return – he won’t stay here with me – time can only freeze so long. He wants to go back – the thing he needs exists in the real world. Let him go… let it all just fade away. Moments. A handful of moments cupped in silly little hands. Vague nothingness of crumbling pages like a forgotten and overlooked torn dress.
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