What do you feel when you know not what you feel? What do you do when you know not what to do? How might one ordinarily react to extraordinary circumstances – I guess there’s only one way to know.
I seek salvation outside of myself, even though I know it only lies within. I can feel a future just within reach: I hope, or perhaps it’s better to say, I am scared to hope for the fear of pain.
That same pain, over and over again,
Each time dressed just a little different, and yet I cannot ever be sure that what I’m seeing is believing.
Tentative, hopeful, doubtful and certain that this path may lead to a better garden, but this begs the question: is where I am already not good enough? If I hope for something different, but does this not mean that I am unsatisfied with where I currently am? I enjoy my garden as it is, but I hope to visit another and co-tend in their garden. I repeat: my garden is fertile and alive, as the sparkle in a baby’s eyes.
To hope is to create conditions for sadness, and so I refrain. Rooting myself in the present, feeling what is and needs to be felt, so as to avoid that cold, hollow sensation – that dementor’s kiss.
Despite that, I still hope; I still yearn for the kiss. Not a dementor’s, no, but real flesh and blood.
I already feel alive, with blood coursing through my veins, and yet I hope for the press of another. Not in a way that reeks of insecurity and safety, but in the way that two embrace and move in sync to rhythmic beat of their hearts pressed as close as can be. A union of souls lost and found.
Thereout in the future exists a garden, fertile and alive – I hope to visit there. Maybe it will be soon, maybe it will be later, and maybe it will be never. Regardless, where I presently sit is good enough, despite the cold winter mornings and dreary seattle rain, I enjoy it despite the weather.
maybe one day,
maybe one day,