Wednesday, February 6, 2013
The small, slow flakes falling. Steady outside the window. The world - this small town - bright and white under the dark, gray sky. A pane of glass separating me from where I am and where I wish to be. Outside. In it. Pushing through knee-deep snow. Feeling the cold. Hearing the crow. Smelling the frozen February air. The still evergreens. Me - just wanting to be - everything. All of these days. Spent. Earned. Gifted. And yet we lock ourselves up. Live these roles. Maintain these images. So that somewhere someone is pleased. Not you. Not me. But somebody else. Driven by things we don’t want or need, but that we end up working for. Day in and day out. Every day of this life. All I have are these words. Letters strung together. Like flakes in the sky. It is not enough. I know. It is not enough proof. Not enough truth. Not enough love. But it is all I have and it is all I can give. I don’t know how this ends up. How long we’ll keep going. How many days we’ll sit inside, on the wrong side of the glass, aching. But I feel - deep down - that our time is coming. That tonight we’ll sleep. Dream. Find the rest we need, so that tomorrow we can wake and try again. More breaths. Another chance. At last, we’ll reach - touch the glass - and it will give way.