I think life asks a lot from us. More from some than others. I think we’re strong enough, brave enough, even if we don’t know it yet.
I think that when we become used to letting go, all that remains will just flow. But their will all always be hardship, and that’s ok. It’s the obstacles, the uneasiness, the pain that will make us grow.
We don’t need a way out, but a space within. To plant our feet, to place our wings. To hold on, but just lightly. To know that we’re being held, even without arms around us.
The wind whispers, ‘it’s going to be alright’. Life holds me like the stars holds its stars. Strangers bring me their light, smiles like golden hours. They fill me up and carry me.
But when I allow myself to be completely alone, I feel an emptiness. The scars deep inside, I can feel every inch of them. I taste the blood inside my tears. And their is no one to carry me, to hold me. I wonder is it because I don’t need anyone? Or is it because I have been forgotten about?
But maybe it is meant to happen, when I’m grey and old. When I have exhausted every strength, lived every ‘me’ time to its fullness. And the wind will whisper to me, ‘he has arrived.’
I’m standing on this bridge, in between two worlds. The same magic that is there in every moment, seen and unseen. I remind myself that what I’m feeling in that very moment, is not a reflection on what really is. I create dramas and worries that are only real because I make them so. That life paints a different picture. Life is always dancing and nothing can change that, even silence.
Every time I lay down my head, something pulls me further away. Like a magnet, charged by the shadows that are left behind. I cling on to them, ignoring the light that exists. And I become lost and disillusioned, by the tragedies from my past. But I know that I’m getting there, to the place that I have not known in a long time. In my heart I’m already there.
They come like wild flowers. I got used to solitude, I got used to my own skin.
Then you came out of nowhere, and you caressed me. Your hands touching my skin, this time. But you lied to my heart. With the soft strokes of your finger tips, you made me feel that I mattered, that I was enough. But you didn’t really want me. You just wanted to make me feel like you did, so you could feel good about yourself.
All of the wildflowers, are taking their toll on me. Instead of already feeling whole in my own solitude, I have come to yearn for that certain sweetness that you can’t have on your own.