Dear Hearts,
Welcome back to our journey.
Today, I implore that you listen to the words narrated in our audio journal recording, simply to better hear these words lift off the page, as today we post not an article, but rather a poem of sorts. It is, as with all our conversations, imperative that we understand and embrace the truth of our emotions: that some of our darkest storms are self-imposed, some of our perceived mistakes were born from a place of loss, and that sometimes we need to truly see ourselves, and all our emotions, to break free of the prisons we create for ourselves.
I see our emotions as the iridescent, rainbow-like patterns one witnesses ever so often on the surface of clear quartz water. Patterns that are chaotically beautiful, intertwined, imperfect, and eternally effervescent. This poem is perhaps a glimpse into a future, or a present, that is born from us. It is, I hope, a pathway to discovering something greater. However heavy it may seem, I trust that you and I can hear these words and soothe the parts of ourselves that need soothing, so that we may soldier on; tall, proud, and strengthened in the knowledge that, for all our imperfections, we deserve the joy of living a life rich in meaning, love, and the happiness we have always sought.
and together our lives are filled with the chances we never took
The Lives We Never Lived
And you never write to me,
or bring me flowers,
or say I’m beautiful,
and I never ask that you hold my hand,
or open these doors,
or show up at my place of work,
coffee and a Brunetti pastry in hand.
And you never speak of the love that came before me,
and I never ask, save that I may have to remember the love that came before you.
And together our lives are filled with all the chances we never took, the love we never professed, and the coldness of reality as opposed to the warmth of dreams.
I should like to say that, in another life, unperturbed by our grievances, we were great friends; inseparable.
But I am melancholic in my understanding that, in this life, we are not as remarkable as one would hope. Rather, we are simply like tea that is neither cold nor warm, and biscuits that are neither too hard nor too soft; paired together on an afternoon that called for something far more indulgent, hotter, and sweeter.
I believe that we are no farther apart, nor any closer, than we could be. But I know we are as close as we should be. Because I know that, in the last moments of life, if not my great love, it will be you who holds my hand, wipes my tears, and whispers words of calm remembrance into my deafening ears.
And so we will live, and love, and pass through time, for in our minds, mistakes are an indulgence of the young, and youth is defined by the body and not by the mind. And so we are too far gone now to turn back and start anew, and so we gild the gilded cage of our own making, and in it we lie.
Two birds of paradise, the last of our kind, dreaming of the home we once knew in a pocket of time, when the land before us was green as far as the eye could see.
Now, lying on this scant branch, waiting to go back home, to a version of us that understood that we were never really waiting for another person, only for ourselves.
love always,
Avastavé by Dmitri Ruwan
Listen to the audio narration of this article here.
