I think I’ve had a thousand beginnings. And each one is slightly less scary than the one before. I used to plan ahead, remain perched upon what was supposed to happen, instead of feeling what was actually happening. I’m less obsessed with the future now, as I understand it will always remain slightly out of my reach.
I imagine the earth feels this way about the sun…Always rotating trying to feel its warmth upon its face. I must have thought the future held some contract of dreams fulfilled, lies untold, promises kept. But the future keeps rotating…changing, always just slightly out of my reach.
But the sun remains a steady companion. It greets me each morning, wakes me with a fresh promise. Things are going to keep changing…but what was once old, will be come new again. The beginnings will keep coming, and the endings are yet another promise. There is certainty here–a comfort in the process. If losing love is like a window through my heart, regaining it must feel like a moment stuck in time.
I’m starting to sense that it is the present that offers the real possibility. No longer searching for dreams fulfilled because I am too busy fulfilling them. I don’t question the chance, the inevitable opportunity that comes with new beginnings. And I do not fear the end. This place used to feel like hope abandoned. Now, it has become a consummation of possibility.
The wildness, that must occupy this space, is palpable. I feel it with each passing decision even as I abandon all logic. I can both articulate it and forget it all at once. And if I remain here long enough, sunlight on my face, my past will be wiped clean by somebody else’s dream. And with each lover’s touch, not even the fingerprints will remain.