I never thought that I had any more to give.
It's fair to say that I am struggling. I'm shuttled between euphoric highs and desperate lows. Thinking and re-thinking, confirming and re-confirming. Still, I'm at a loss on how to move forward when I'm chained to what is behind. This is not about you. This? Is about me.
How do you stand on top of the world comfortably? When I'm here, I am so busy waiting to feel the coming shift of the world's axis that I forget to enjoy the view. Sometimes I cannot be sure if I can feel the tremors in my toes or if anxiety is only cramping my feet. I want to be here. I want to enjoy. I want to give. I wish this could last forever.
I am afraid to give. Afraid to trust. Afraid to fall. I laid my worry stones on that imaginary line half way between and then travelled away from them in faith. Now, when I thrust my hands into my pockets on a cold day, I find no polished stones and no unpolished truths. I ask and am sometimes answered. Sometimes I am not. As if this could last forever.
I want to believe that my time will come. That I will be rewarded with happiness that I can feel in my hands despite what I find in my pockets. I see threads of that on tomorrow's horizons and they are beautiful. And unreachable. I am waiting for that string to be tied to my finger so that I may always see that I am connected to it. To find comfort in everydays seems an impossible tail I've been chasing for FAR too long.
How do I accept that, this time, there are no cruel handed fates with sharpened scissors? How do you hang your hat on tomorrow's promises and keep your head warm today? Or will it become another collection of possibilities? Pictures, cards, letters and whispers. Music and memories and cotton embraces? Lay them upon my buried hope.
Wishing for a cradle to lay my heart in.