May I first start with an apology. The apology. The meaning of why and where we are at this very second in time. I’m sorry, greatly, deeply, wishfully sorry. I know. I’ve realised. I understand that an apology is not enough. The words required action, thought, change, tenderness and study. The ramifications are, as always, realistic and brutal.
I reminisce, I recall, I wonder, I wish and more. If I could hold you against my frame, my body, I’d wish to embrace your warmth and covet the moment forever. It’s no longer here, viable, real or realised. I broke the promise of love, I wasn’t ready, and because of this, I now see the colour of my very heart. Strangled, dilapidated, struggling to move as it rests its shattered casing against the cold floor of loneliness. I know. I hear you. You understand, as you’ve been broken before. We are, one with this understanding.
I chastise, myself. I admonish, my responsibility with the moments I’ve allowed to escape through my very hands. You see, I wasn’t ready. I lacked, understanding. I needed, reflection. There are frequencies within the world, the very nature of peace, love and respect. We have to learn, we have to adapt and grow as people. I was, I’m afraid, static. I had, resolvable issues. Each recrimination seemed just that, the previous words of another tainted your intentions within my world. I evaded. I escaped. I didn’t, simply, easily, listen and implement.
I forget, nothing, everything, all of us and the days and nights previously fading away to memories. I should have held that hand of yours, I could have showed you the true colour of my very emotions but, instead, I remained seemingly closed. It takes a brave person to admit that they need work. It matters not, if a person has or had struggled through the years to achieve a balance. It never stops. Ever. The endeavour to grow, apparent. The willingness to learn, forever. The kisses from cherry lips, no more.
I end, my nature. I’m adapting, I’m growing, I’m learning a new way to traverse a delicate path. I’m open, despite the closure of my heart’s safety measures. I’m exposed, I’m vulnerable, I’m willing and wondering. Do you recall the kisses, the holding of hands, the expressions we created upon many a day? I seldom wish to grasp the moments, as they make me bleed. The fissures are, obviously, apparent to everyone around me.
I begin, as with many beginnings. I have faith, as I drag myself from the floor. Heart flailing, begging, asking for the assistance of imaginary memories and dreams. There is no saviour. The path, a struggle. The learning, necessary. To become the most beautiful butterfly, to fly once again, we must embrace the change from within and, of course, the motion of our soul’s awakening. I’m aware. The exposure providing realisation of change. Watch me move throughout the silent realms, hear me call your name as I repair my heart, soul and mind. I love. You. I am without. You. The universe knows, I’ve asked, I’ve pleaded, without the karma of kings returning to destroy my actions.
I see, as much as I can. The conversations, the knowledge, all increasing at speed. I’m embracing the world, myself, nothing of you, the other and more. There are lessons that threaten to crack a soul in two. So be it. Teach me pain, crack my body into three parts and my self-esteem shall rise again. No force upon this world can break me, destroy me, leave me alone on the floor for long. I am, everything, nothing, the frequency resounding from my energy. Freely given, always.
…and then, I imagine your lips, upon mine. I feel you, I taste every second of you upon me. You press and I feel. You feel and I press more and more. Picture perfect, the harmony of two becoming a singular moment in time. The angels themselves would blush, if they knew the person that sat beside them, upon this day. I am, more. I have and will, grow. There is no other conclusion, no other ending than to ‘become’, what we were always meant to be. I shall suffer, I shall feel my own tears fall from my own pain filled eyes, but that’s a method of survival. I shall bleed, feel, crack and fall. It has been written and, it shall be written again and again until the end of the Universe. It is, done. The story, over. The book, closed.
Then, once again, I think about your cherry lips. I feel the love, the connection, the apology rise within my very consciousness. There are no apologies suitable for ears that are closed to words. I digress. Cheery lips, the vibrancy, the essence and notion that matches the colour of my very heart that, upon this day, would do anything for a singular, cherry filled, kiss.