One Waiting
November 20th, 2009
[Edit: I wrote this some months ago and then forgot to post it. Part of me was undecided about putting it up here but then I said what the heck- and totally forgot about it. :) I think there was a reason for that though because as I came back to it today and read over words that I don't expect anyone else to understand I find I understand them even more then when I wrote them in the first place. Enjoy.]
There is this memory lost to childhood- caught between fragments of imagination and the wisdom only children bear. It pulls me to remember. Not always, though young each new year brings me both closer and farther away. Closer in that the logic is evolving, farther in that the world consumes us each a little more each day and the view point of innocence is constantly corrupting.
This memory- or mayhaps memories… it pulls the heart with an unknown emotion and pulls the mind with distorted curiosities.
The sweet sacrifice of the winged chorus.
Music to my soul’s long deprived ears.
I hear. I listen.
And I know elusive truths- like spiderwebs in the wind, they are supported by my faith alone that what is meant to be shall be.
But I must wait.
A little longer.
The door is opening. A crack of light around the edges has always seeped through- inescapable to my attention but the knob has since turned, my knocks long past echoing. Now the door is no longer a door. It’s ajar- not open, but wrapped in a verb.
Opening.
I am small- how long must the verb be before I can slip through?
Like little bubbles floating in the void- spheres litter the cosmos. Glossy film swiveling over the surface both providing beauty and blinding us from the unknown on the outside- so much beauty protecting us from equal beauty that we would fear.
They sing. Ring true with the vibrations of possibility. Breath and they hum. Step and they dance. Spread your wings and they as a whole become the ultimate goal.
Breath, step, wings at the ready. Standing upon the precipice and tilting over the edge.
Waiting.
I’ve seen the phases of the moon play upon my own face long enough to know this:
One smile will light up another. One sphere singing and the entire universe will ring. One child dancing in solitude- and the story will be told.
I love the ending of this :) You should consider doing some creative non-fiction writing for publication. I think you could do some really interesting work mixing the fantastic with the real!
You’re right but I never quite know where to go for publishing or what of mine is worthy of submission. :S I’m still a bit timid to putting myself (and my writing) out there but if ever there was a good cliff to jump off of… :)