If you love me, why'd you let me go?
I was asleep. See, I thought...however many months ago, that then was when I woke up. That someone threw cold water on me and suddenly everything got made real, the haze disappeared from my until-then dream. It's probably true, but I imagine sometime afterwards I just fell back asleep. I imagine that first time...being suddenly thrust into the strange light of possibilty, of that great yearning joy backed with indescribable sadness, the rays all streaming through, blinding me to the gaping, obvious holes in the plan...that it felt pretty good. In fact, I know that it felt good, that waking up. Every part of me stretching and preparing for some sort of difficult yet rewarding journey. Something worth fighting for, you know? God was I ready to tackle it, take it on. Stand before the powers of Hell, shout it from a mountaintop, whatever. But then something unfortunate happened. My partner in this, the one who threw that water on me, the one who woke me up, backed out, scared. Alone, with no incentive, no directive, I think I fell back asleep. Moved in a heavy fog, drug my feet, blindly feeling for that path I once saw so clearly. Tried so hard to keep on fighting, but...in the end, goodness. Sleep just felt so nice. But it's like the cave...how could I be content, knowing what I knew, what could have been, what, briefly, was. The shadows dancing on the walls. I struggled with that for...awhile. Still am, occasionally. Struggling to let it go, set fire to the past and watch the smoke and ash rise into the air, carried away forever, far from anyone who cares for them. I suppose every day, a little more burns, is taken from me.
And it's this oddly liberating feeling. I'm one who clings to the past despartely, wants to hang on to every moment, can tear at the thought of them, years and years later. But these last however many months...I want nothing of them anymore. I don't particularly want to remember them, cling to them, hold them. I don't want to be responsible for them anymore. Like a poison slowly dripping out, each day a little better. My mind training my heart, which for once is complying and throwing down all its cards, releasing its grip on things as well. My entire body letting go with one huge sigh, one big breath.
I'm waking up now, again, but of my own accord, of my own desire. To go on and not be bogged down, to run and run, into the brilliant sun and something still waiting that isn't, and never was, you.
It's sad. It makes me sad. So much hope and potential slashed through and destroyed, so many beautiful things crushed and twisted. For the better, yes.
All for the better. Sometimes in life...you just can't ask anymore questions. You don't want to hear anymore answers. You just don't. And there are no adequate words to asses your feelings with, nothing left to describe the situation. So with this, I close the book in my mind. The epic novel of the past year, known in entirety to no one, because everybody has different versions of the thing called truth.
And it's this oddly liberating feeling. I'm one who clings to the past despartely, wants to hang on to every moment, can tear at the thought of them, years and years later. But these last however many months...I want nothing of them anymore. I don't particularly want to remember them, cling to them, hold them. I don't want to be responsible for them anymore. Like a poison slowly dripping out, each day a little better. My mind training my heart, which for once is complying and throwing down all its cards, releasing its grip on things as well. My entire body letting go with one huge sigh, one big breath.
I'm waking up now, again, but of my own accord, of my own desire. To go on and not be bogged down, to run and run, into the brilliant sun and something still waiting that isn't, and never was, you.
It's sad. It makes me sad. So much hope and potential slashed through and destroyed, so many beautiful things crushed and twisted. For the better, yes.
All for the better. Sometimes in life...you just can't ask anymore questions. You don't want to hear anymore answers. You just don't. And there are no adequate words to asses your feelings with, nothing left to describe the situation. So with this, I close the book in my mind. The epic novel of the past year, known in entirety to no one, because everybody has different versions of the thing called truth.