Flicker.

photo copyright Harry Bloom, 2010

October finds you taking a long walk through the suburbs, dazed by the way all this familiarity has begun to feel rather foreign. It finds you holding the phone to your ear, perplexed, straining to hear words that couldn’t possibly be meant for you. Filling your lungs with night air, staring up at the stars burning against the deserted country sky.

October finds you pulling a song you’ve never heard out of quivering keys. Searching for a place out of earshot, struggling to keep your voice steady, wondering where to begin. Turning pages slowly, finding the heaviest weight in the briefest words. Clinging to hope and begging for grace.

October finds you searching for words that never avail themselves and realizing that the dictionary doesn’t have words for this. Waiting without making a single move except to force back the tightness in your throat. Collecting up your papers and poetry and wondering who they really belong to. Leaving a letter half-written because you don’t have it in you to finish that story. Shouldering truth that cuts to the heart. Walking into the clock shop at 11:11 and wishing you knew whether this is the eleventh hour or only the first. Standing in a pool of light until the light begins to flicker.

Relinquishing eloquence and simply declaring the desperate, glorious truth your soul clings to.

You are good.
You were, You are, You will be.
You are good.  

 

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