The future.
"The future sits ahead, as always, looming, laughing at our audacity to guess what it could hold." - Milo.
*
There are people in our lives who are capable of creating mountains upon our landscapes, and then tearing them down to rubble, seemingly in an instant. And at the foot of this destruction, in the settling dust, you can make a pact with yourself to never again be so vulnerable - to be untouchable. You can challenge yourself to forget the feelings of exultation you experienced on those peaks, or the storms you weathered on the cliffs. You want to forget what's gone but is still felt. You want to forget those people who have moved you, who made you different.
But some people, as much as you hate to admit it, have always and will always mean more to you than these ridiculous ultimatums you put upon yourself and your life. However you met these people, however long you've known them, whatever you experienced with them... the combination of all of these things doesn't really matter. All that matters is that, somehow, for some reason (understood or not) they mean more to you than your own strength does.
If these people enter your life again, you'll surrender the long-cooled fields of destruction from years past. You'll allow the claiming of soul and land, and watch with fascination while trembling in your uncertainty as new mountains once again rise up and cast your whole future into shadow. You'll nearly fall from the peaks dancing the wild steps you shouldn't, but somehow, remember clearly. You'll find something of yourself there, where you've been before, in that clearing upon the mountaintop that had been obliterated, that you had died upon, long ago.
You'll find something there, and it will shame all the exultation you felt before the land was cleaved in two. So, too, shall it pale the fear, the pain, the loss.
Who is the fool? Who goes willingly into the place where dire lessons were learned? Where blood spilled, tears fell, souls wrenched apart, and entire futures changed?
It is the fool who wishes to learn still. To live still.
To sing on the mountain once more, before it crumbles.
*
... This was all a long-winded and utterly stupid way of saying that I loved being with you this past weekend.
It was the happiest I've been in a very, very long time.
And I'm too terrified to tell you.
*
There are people in our lives who are capable of creating mountains upon our landscapes, and then tearing them down to rubble, seemingly in an instant. And at the foot of this destruction, in the settling dust, you can make a pact with yourself to never again be so vulnerable - to be untouchable. You can challenge yourself to forget the feelings of exultation you experienced on those peaks, or the storms you weathered on the cliffs. You want to forget what's gone but is still felt. You want to forget those people who have moved you, who made you different.
But some people, as much as you hate to admit it, have always and will always mean more to you than these ridiculous ultimatums you put upon yourself and your life. However you met these people, however long you've known them, whatever you experienced with them... the combination of all of these things doesn't really matter. All that matters is that, somehow, for some reason (understood or not) they mean more to you than your own strength does.
If these people enter your life again, you'll surrender the long-cooled fields of destruction from years past. You'll allow the claiming of soul and land, and watch with fascination while trembling in your uncertainty as new mountains once again rise up and cast your whole future into shadow. You'll nearly fall from the peaks dancing the wild steps you shouldn't, but somehow, remember clearly. You'll find something of yourself there, where you've been before, in that clearing upon the mountaintop that had been obliterated, that you had died upon, long ago.
You'll find something there, and it will shame all the exultation you felt before the land was cleaved in two. So, too, shall it pale the fear, the pain, the loss.
Who is the fool? Who goes willingly into the place where dire lessons were learned? Where blood spilled, tears fell, souls wrenched apart, and entire futures changed?
It is the fool who wishes to learn still. To live still.
To sing on the mountain once more, before it crumbles.
*
... This was all a long-winded and utterly stupid way of saying that I loved being with you this past weekend.
It was the happiest I've been in a very, very long time.
And I'm too terrified to tell you.