winter
Unlike any other moments when I am stirred to write and words just pour forth, this is when I am moved to write but when I searched my brain, it was just blank…the void broken only by thoughts so incoherent I found it hard to write it down; the only ones understandable are the questions and the waves of realizations fracturing the inner silence.
I was so near it, so certain of what I am capable of giving. It was so close…so close I already touched it…but it touched me first and though in the beginning it was fleeting, it left a mark and opened the wall, ever so gently…
No, it did not break the wall down; it held each single piece that made up its structure with such tenderness…it was never a force but warmth, one that slowly melted the ice so cold it can burn; one that I did not even know was there until I saw puddles forming, from the melted patches.
The warmth, it was so encompassing it was slowly becoming a part of me, the sunshine of an otherwise velvety gloom; but I realized that too late…I was only able to touch it when it was retreating. I touched it too late…
I touched it, I felt the warmth and then it was wintry again, in its retreat leaving behind its wake a feeling so surreal I would have thought it was but a dream if not for the puddles. I cannot even stretch out my arm to reach for it, not that sunshine, for I cherish it so much I could not imprison it…but I am left with that single ray of light, one that ensures that there is warmth left to get by, yet even that I know I can never hold, for it can only be near for a moment and then it too will be gone…
