journal · letter · new years resolution · prose

metempsychosis

My Dear,

I ache to leave, to go to you. But I am walled in by the future. Bound by the past. I seek out what we were to find a passage – find only what we are now. Fooled by the wholeness of an image that was nothing more than the sum of its parts. Collapsing with age and surrender, the fragments caught in the kaleidoscope, colliding and spiraling into dust. Falling back within us to be reborn. We will not be what we were then – breathless in the stillness of forever, the air snatched from our mouths by wonder. And we will not stay where we are now – cradling our devastation, one taking on the darkness to bring light for the other. No; we are caught in the folds of a pattern that only time can shape. One day, the passage will open and I will go to you at last. We will spin in perfect symmetry, no longer apart, but a part of each other. We will become more than the sum of our parts. And we will realize our truth:

some things must die, to live.

 

Yours,

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