The pull was strong.
Celestial light enveloped me,
suspending me.
But I couldn’t leave.
As much as we promised,
and wanted to be together forever,
our unborn child deserved life.
I inhaled,
my hand slipped from yours
and the light was gone.
Self-doubt is a debilitating phenomenon. Most of us have experienced some form of self-doubt throughout our lives and the worst time for me was during my formidable years in high school. For those lucky enough to have had a firm belief in who they were during those years, my hat goes off to you. I was not one of those lucky people.
I spent many years trying to fly under the radar and just fit in. The image I presented was varied depending on the group of people with whom I was sharing those hallowed hallways. If I were completely honest about my years in secondary school, I would say that the vast majority of those precious moments was spent trying to be something that I didn’t feel I honestly represented.
But now, if I really think back, I can’t help but wonder – what if, in reality, I was actually being something that I truly was? Perhaps I doubted myself so much that I was unable to enjoy the different facets of my personality. Each of us has a gift, maybe several if we’re lucky, but each of us also has to realize that sometimes we have to be our own cheerleader, our own geek, our own jock and our own stoner.
I finally gave myself permission to be proud of the person I have become. I embrace the many parts of myself and the talents that I have. No longer am I looking for that gratification from anyone other than myself. Those years of self-doubt have since been stored in a box of memories and have been replaced by the belief that my opinion of myself matters the most and I can give myself permission to be every part of who I am.
Doubt kills more dreams than failure ever will. I don’t know who coined that phrase but I’d like to buy them a drink!
Dusk descends. The deep blue of the night sky edges its way into darkness and evening begins to fall. Stars mottle the nightscape and any heat the earth consumed during the day is slowly released back into that vast open space. The long spindly finger of Old Man Winter begins to caress the world and the cold enters everything it touches. Trees snap and groan in their defiance of the stinging night air and animals have long since retired to the protection of their dens.
The smallest portion of exposed skin is ambushed by the cold and is threatened by the gnawing jaws of frost bite. It hurts to breathe but the beauty of a cold winter night is unparalleled. The sky seems anxious to introduce every star in the milky way without the intrusion of clouds and the silence is deafening.
This is my winter. These are the nights that I am drawn into the cold for the sole purpose of watching the stars put the sun to bed for another night. I tilt my head back to take in the constellations and wait for a shooting star. This is life in my Northern town. This is the pastel portrait that saturates my brain before I go to sleep.
If my hand brushed up against yours,
would your fingers curl around mine,
would you reach for my touch
as easily as I long for yours,
and let your thumb
gently caress my skin?
If I kissed you,
would our lips slightly touch
before you turned away,
or would your face lean into mine,
absorbing every ounce of the passion
I want to share with that kiss?
If I said I love you,
would you immediately build a wall
to keep me at a distance,
or would you pull me close
happy to share my emotion
because you feel it too?
If I fell into you,
would your arms catch me,
would my body be met by the warmth of your flesh,
or would I awake, once again, from my dream
wondering if you really exist.
I just wanna know.
My umbrella could not protect me
from the rain that would come.
Like a tsunami of emotion,
sadness hit me with a fury,
threatening to pull me into its current
and drown me in its torrents.
Some days the emotion feels heavy, oppressive,
like wax dripping on canvas,
and the thin veil of my resolve is not enough
to shield me from the pain of loss.
But on the good days,
I can bathe in the colors of that storm.
I am the black and white character
wading into a flushed prism of good memories
and I no longer feel alone.
Although you are not physically here with me,
your brush still adds a splash of life to my canvas
and those hues make me feel connected again.
How good it feels
to walk through the reminiscence of you.
In the endless sea of possibility,
my heart chose you.
Even though so many things didn’t add up,
the circumstance was wrong,
and the timing was so off,
my heart still chose you.
It wasn’t love at first sight.
My heart has hurt before
and had healed.
It is cautious and careful.
I went in with my eyes wide open
and my heart sewn shut.
Soon, the stitches began to fray,
and as much as I tried to turn from the truth,
my heart chose you.
And if it happens anew,
if we live again in a different lifetime,
no matter when or where,
my heart will find you
and choose you all over again.
They grab my attention
and hold me in their embrace.
Chasing them to catch just the right shot
is like chasing the illusion of perfection.
Their shapes, like our lives, can change in an instant
also changing our perspective.
![IMG_2347[1]](https://polysyllabicprofundities.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/img_23471.jpg?w=300&h=224)
Once you adjust your position
the view is never the same.
The closer you get to something,
the more beautiful it becomes.
![IMG_2348[1]](https://polysyllabicprofundities.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/img_23481.jpg?w=300&h=224)
Sometimes, if you are lucky,
the view is so much better than you anticipated
and those moments should be savored,
breathed in like a fine wine.
Our destiny is written in the sky,
our hope, painted on the largest canvas possible
but our dreams can change in a whisper.
Although the wind may alter the portrait,
perhaps it was meant to change.
Just maybe, life is as big as the sky
and those clouds should be the cherished blessings
of the things we were meant to find beautiful.