It is like without wings again. When truth seeks to hide, a piece of myself rots corroding memories and a part of my heart.
They don’t understand because it is the shadows I speak to when all is quiet.
That pain hurts but it seeks us to move away and forward.
That it is love that dwell in my every thought christening my movement across the world.
It is bigger steps than I could imagine. Over mountains of desire, oceans of thought and across the experiences of different worlds.
All the while, those who cry out below and besides my large steps, are those whom my heart resides in. They wail for one who understand but not one who speaks truth. I can only walk on …
So on my shoulders sits a heavy burden.
They tie their stones to my feet. They seek to bound me in their own prison.
Their cries reach the heavens where my mind hides. It shields my heart as I leave them.
The hands and minds of those few who understand my true purpose are calloused beyond repair. We are bruised. We are victims. We all have brought this upon ourselves, this is our intention.
So throughout this journey to another side we are here, I am not alone. I am not. I am not.
There in which I glance upon the scars left upon my feet, shoulders, back and the tips of my fingers. I hear them coming again as their march as loud as thundering clouds.
I do not fear for I know their love.
I do not quicken my pace for I respect their comfort in ignorance and admire their unwillingness to change.
I will not yield to foretell a truth when they are not ready, for they own sake…
Yet the burden grows heavier. Their cries unyielding, unending, continuous and loud as their heart pleas for lies.
Love is the only gift I can give, one that will become their salvation if they accept it. But they do not understand once again. My love for them angers because it reminds them of their own scars and prisons. Whether it is a mother’s hate, a father’s abandonment, a child’s envy, they have imprisoned themselves rather than that of the past they hold on to.
Yes, for a instant, I had sought forgiveness through solitude. K.C. taught me first to open my eyes to my own lie. There was no forgiveness in forcing a kind of self-punishment and there is no burden greater to carry but the forgiveness I lacked in myself.
It was something they also did not understand. I had forgiven myself long ago, as well as the cruelty they accuse me of.
My pain, sorrow, regret, guilt and love for them showers them in memories I left behind.
At the end of this cycle, whether am I wise or a coward? Kind or cold? Self-aware or arrogant? It is not important.
No one has won and all have lost; we are still present, alive and human.