Something unnamed implores me to think on you, write to you and dream upon you because last we spoke you mentioned we were at a disadvantage in not being able to recreate the moments we shared.
How could I disagree without begging but since I came from a family of beggars I refused to disagree and said you were impoverished because it was easier to attack your character as a defense to keep you blinded from seeing the poverty in my own heart.
Our interactions caused me to think of a friend I once had who was so angry with me that she put a noose around my cat’s neck in hopes that it would die and kill my spirit. She did that because she didn’t know how to communicate her emotions to me, and because I didn’t know how to express my rage to her, we stopped talking. I’ll never understand why she chose to express herself that way because I was never able to ask. I was never able to ask because her abusive father killed her shortly after that. We were only seven-year-old girls.
When I got older, I wondered if there was some luck of the draw I’d won because I lived through my abuse. When I got older still, I leaned into purpose, realized that everything was cause and effect then stopped believing in luck. Sometimes I wish desperately to go back in time to hug her, to tell her she was forgiven, to tell her she was my best friend and then laugh and play like kids do, fully releasing perceived transgressions.
She taught me how far one might go to hurt another when they are hurting, but she also taught me the distance between pain and forgiveness lies somewhere within the circumference of a noose and that it is love that loosens the knot and keeps hope alive. It must be difficult to believe I can forgive or have forgiven knowing what I do and even more don’t know. It must be challenging to comprehend how I can love, seeing what I do and even more don’t see.
While I understand difficulty and challenge more than you can imagine, it isn’t where I live. I live in possibilities, and whether I see them in my physical life or in my dreams doesn’t matter because in my life, everything can exist. I can’t allow my own blind ignorance to hold me prisoner to my nature, to man’s nature of trial and error, to the distaste of unpleasing experiences or to the rejection of those who once captivated by the thought of me refused to accept the reality of me in their conditional worlds.
I don’t even remember her name but do know she didn’t die in vain and also that her life touches yours as much as it has touched mine. Because if not for her I wouldn’t seek to understand why others choke in their pain nor would I attempt to grab the rope and pull the knot away from our thoughts of the past to reveal the value in stumbling and falling, if for no reason but to remind us of our temporary attachment to earth in order to find our hallowed grounds.
It seems unfair to continue expressing how much I want to be wrapped up with you and yet what appears unjust to show is already a reality, so much so that my soul is nothing but an echo that circles my heart like a dog chasing its tail until exhaustion forces it to rest. But an echo never sleeps, it merely moves away from the canyon until it reaches the sky to be seen and not heard but this my love is the irony because the noose has been removed, so that life itself be freed to become the voice of vision.
To want you is my reality, a sincere and naive desire, without knowledge of what is best for you and your life. What I want more is for you to have you, to be forever strengthened by rings of justice and freed from every noose placed around your dreams in attempt to convince you they were death sentences. May you find peace in my words and may they bring to rest any ropes that pull you in opposing directions.
On the swings of love, we will meet again.