being strong or feeling strong. when i ruled the world…and the formula that evades me.

portrait by aaron geiser

those pockets of time when the stars aligned just for you. only to land upon the pockets thereafter.

memory is flawed in that we retain the color of those moments on altruistic palettes.

illumination and wisdom accompany reflection.

just as with certainty we will gaze fondly and wisely towards what now rests uncomfortable in our weary, weathered hands.

My script got lost in the mail. So much of the momentum in my youth was spent reaching for this dream I was saturated with. it was wonderful. why wouldn’t I assimilate a version of it for my very own. The possibility that it would never manifest hadn’t occurred to me. I could hardly stomach that my plate was alternatively heaped with mountains that I had no interest or choice in climbing.

I withered in the hot sun of self-pity. Paddled out to an island, burned my boat and danced hand in hand with apathy.

and one day he reached out his hands. And his hands made me want to dream.

my head turns to see him moving beside me towards a life that I do not know and can not see. and it is hard to run towards something you can not see.

and the knowledge that my path will never again be tread alone is a reality so big that I can not quite believe is real.

after we let go of those ideas of what it should all be, of what it should’ve been: it is only then that you are free.

I am free.

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