I am a coward. I yearn for nothing more than to allow the child to rant; to cry; to scream, to let her know You were there, are here, but it exhausts me. As my wrath commenced upon pages, she cried in her car. For the first time, we cried! What is this? We don’t remember ever weeping about the past. Although familiar and comforting, the submerged liquid bursting forth scared me. What else lies within my halls?
That taste of needed tears was like that first sip of water in the morning. Your mouth covets the refreshing liquid, knowing it’s about to touch your lips. As it enters, slipping along your tongue toward the back of your throat, you beg for more. You push the cup further upward, wishing it had no limits, wanting it to empty itself into you. Sensation glides down as gravity demands its quenching power. Every part of you, the still cooling liquid penetrates, awakening.
But, she forgets me. She abandons pure refreshment and seeks something beyond my reach to quench her thirst. The stifling desire will return, and I fear its relentless desire to empty from me. Every time I permit vulnerability, she both dreads and craves my uncontrollable passion.
Have I been this separated from her? Has she repressed me for that long? Why does she not recognize me or realize her name is my own? I can. I cannot. Her body stiffens. I will.
Dear Memory –
I remain here with you;
What I ask you to loose.
Voices of old, the only screams she hears;
Your sound draws near.
Shadows lurk inside some room;
Fear, memory, and doom.
Words now printed in ink gone cold;
Unto you, her heart must let go.
A soul cannot live in a land of honey;
The path via you, she must first study.
This is her journey; one I'm willing to also travel;
The lived past has to unravel.
She chokes, burning taste of fear;
Give her drink of what remains unclear.
Is it possible to pass through hell unscathed?
The past is what keeps her enslaved.
Let us begin this walk of trust;
Air stirs; she gasps - now, gently push.