The moment there is nothing more to say is its own season. It lasts less than a second, but fills my entire body with longing, regret, anger, and remorse. I find it most confusing that I didn’t see it coming. In the way a falling leaf articulates the coming of fall, only the calendar spoke of the end drawing near. And it wasn’t enough.
This moment chokes me, and strangles every piece of strength I have left. It twists my heart up and sucks on its pulp. I feel light and heavy all at once. The lightness just a symptom of the numbness in my body. I float on air, and then have a thought.
This moment…the one I’ve feared, ignored, dismissed…gives way to something entirely different. Hope.
The dictionary says hope is the belief in a positive outcome. I think it is more than that. Hope for me, is the air. I do not need to verify it…it is faith and love, movement and silence. It is the place my future redeems my past. It is honest and the most truthful apology to ever leave his lips. It’s the moment he admits he destroyed me, and the moment he agrees he did so on purpose. I am closer now to this hope..a new season, a new beginning.
If I am hanging on by threads, then they are made of silk. My body wraps up in them, tangled to my core. And though I find myself teetering helplessly, it is enough to sustain my weight, and I will not fall.
And while I hang here, I offer you my soul. I beg you to unravel me, to peek inside and see what you find. I can promise things you only have ever heard of, and I can sustain love even while I ponder horror. I ask you to walk tenderly, to touch softly…I have pieces made of glass, and others as round as the sun. It’s up to you to discover the difference.
The wonderment of pain, I suppose, is its ability to heal. And so I take a deep breath, watch the moment pass, and revel in the newest season. Please come with me, I am going to need your help.