If you are standing in the shadows, step out of the darkness and into the light. ~ Morgan Gregory Bisnett.
The clouds are moving fast from East to West across the bright blue sky. I sit too long at a traffic light watching the sky seem to move while I sit still. It is as though the glorious morning sun is chasing the clouds away along with the left over haze of dawn. As though darkness is running from the light.
The darkness cowers in critical self loathing in a fetid and moldy dark corner. It hugs itself, taking refuge in this place chained by its own will, its own inability to step away from its self imposed misery. The suns rays caress the floor as misery whimpers, and whispers, I do not want you light. Why do you seek the light and then tell it you want it? Because I don’t want to hurt the light. But you have already said you do not want it, have you not. Foolishness. All foolishness. The light continues its journey while the darkness stays in its corner mulling over its pleasure in the damp cracked walls, the spiders, the rats and the bucket of shit.
And the sun, it still rises and sets every day, and in the cold and the dark of night, it learns to yearn for the dawn instead of yearning for arms, and lips and hands, it learns to savor the nights alone. It learns to shine inside while the stars glitter and the moon waxes and wanes.
!00s of hugs, from children, mothers saying thank you for being you, for loving my child, a night alone with surprise flowers, not noticed for several long minutes on the table. Dogs who refuse to say they love me in human, getting treats anyway. A card that says remember you are a bright light in the universe. A tiny increment of enlightenment sparks inside my heart. Echoes of words said, who needs romantic love when your true work is here, in this place, where you give love all day long to those who need it, to those who want it, to those who ask for it, for those who cry out for it. No one says I am too unhealthy to give this love.
And I don’t believe for one second that I am missing something that makes romantic love possible, except, except for a man who believes that the light, is worth reaching for, is worth hoping for, is worth wanting and seeking and holding precious.
The chasm stretches before me, I cannot fill it. I cannot cross it. I could climb down into it and back up the other side, or I can leave it behind. Or I can walk its edges hoping for a time when it will end. But the chasm is part of the journey, and for a moment, I thought I could fly. For a moment, I thought that love had wings, and we could soar together.
For a moment.
But that moment has left me.
And I am not sure what it is I want anymore.