Maybe if I would have just closed the gate behind me, then I wouldn’t have let it in.
But that would have meant shutting it on my own right hand, shredding past ligament and bone
For my doubts I wear like chains and fear is my prison and this is solitary confinement.
And all I pray is that you know freedom: that you can stil taste the sweet summer rain at midnight, and feel the tender caress of your lover’s skin upon yours
I hope that song still brings you comfort, and I want you to commit this stillness to memory
I thought this gesture would be proof enough of my intentions. I hoped that writing this sentence would bring relief and soothe…was it you? Was it me? Was it for anyone?
For there are those that have gone before me.
There are worn trails where those brave souls have driven in footholds; paths over vast canyons and stratospheric peaks have been traversed and re-circled time after time
There are maps and their voices are captured in words and pictures. They accompany me in my journey I walk in their honor.
And if time has taught me anything, it is that time itself is the one thing in life we all desire the most, but can never obtain.
It slips forth like sand from our eager palms, back unto the shores of the universe from which it came
And the best we can do is try to mold the stream of never-ending debris into something of beauty, or discover a practical utility
Or lest we struggle incessentaly, in a constant war to refill our arms’ bundle only to watch in futility as it slips between our fingers.