Monday, 19 September 2016

Before The Dawn Heals Us

I said I'd come back, and so here I am. More to myself than anyone else, but that is not the point. I know I did everything I could. No regrets. I finally, fully, and gratefully learnt that my veins are full of something pure and good.

Oh, what a beautiful place. I once told you that it was being built, do you remember? That seems so long ago now. My favourite place has been no secret, not for me at least. A lion roared and we felt so unstoppable. Being in love makes you feel like that. We'd said it was visiting hours only, but that rule doesn't seem to apply anymore.

You feel this home on your skin and in your bones, more than you can see it with your eyes. Though I will do my best to describe it to you.

Before you, a great grand entrance. It almost does not seem in keeping, considering our sturdy foundations of our own declarations. Though the bending irons and beautiful deep woods don't seem so outlandish when you realise they have been put together with the same utmost care as we were. We did not fall together, we grew. The glass fits snugly, creating shapes and patterns that make the sunlight dance about the hallway. You'd think them heavy to open, yet they are welcoming to the lightest touch. The hinges never squeak here, no rust to challenge. Though that's only one way of entering. Other times when you want little attention there are side doors and ways only known in to those who built this place.

As you enter your favourite smells greet you. They drift in and out of the rooms, always comforting and lifting you. The walls are smooth and of many hues. There are lumps and bumps on the outer walls, but the inner heart is built on an unshakable belief. There's no doubt in here. A steady hand crafted such lovely lines; paintbrush in hand and imagination flowing freely. Windows offer wonderful natural light to flood in and endure the waking hours. The shapes of the room change accordingly. For there are times when you need to run and be silly and free, as we give chase and all that can be heard is laughter when you catch and tickle me. You see, there always has to be room for dancing in the kitchen. Other times, the rooms are cosy, they are encapsulating but never claustrophobic, allowing us warmth and comfort in the focus of only us. There is wooden furniture, adorned by the photographs of memories past, and ornaments to remind you precisely of adventures a little forgotten - there had been so many! It's resilient, a well crafted piece. Everyday they'd get attention, it keeps them shiny and new. How treasured all this is.

At Christmas time a beautiful fairy delicately sits upon her crystal throne. So light as to be atop a bubble. So magic to preserve the moment. Her hands look to move about some secret energy, a small smile traces her lips. Observing the room, she watches over. The lights twinkle, glitter sparkles. You'd once wrote to me that you couldn't discern what was going on in my own head, right when we were starting out. So upon the walls I'd stitched a piece that would make it clear, so you could always look to it for reassurance, that; I love you, I love you, I love you. There's an old rug on the floor that keeps its colours well, and stays warm next to the hearth. A guitar leans against a chair. The noise is of crackling embers and contented purrs. It makes for quiet comfort.

It's so easy to keep up with the housework when you are working as a team. I've done my best for the longest time. I'm not sure if you've seen that.

For you see, it's a little dusty in there now. It'll continue to gather.

Is love alive?
I do not believe the walls will come down in leaving. In truth, it is not "leaving" at all. A door shut is not a door forgotten. I've written so many hundreds of words about all this over the past four years, they likely won't stop for some time yet. This has been my home for the longest time, the decision I have been most sure about in my life, and to be wrong and now to need to go? I need to find out who I am again way from this beautiful, wonderful, home. And oh god, I am going to miss you, maybe even for the rest of my time. I'm not sure my heart can really be broken not when it has this still.
It's time to go from this place.

Is love alive?
A heart that is, always, full of love. My heart.



No comments:

Post a Comment

Thank you for your words.