I hear the footsteps, and see my feet walking down an old, familiar hallway. A brightly-lit room turns sepia as I enter, the silence grows in the aftermath of my entrance. Strong I am as I cross the threshold, shortly that will be forgotten.
In the pales of own ingenuity I stumble through the doorway. Shocked, nearly blinded, the stoic nature of my heart melts in the damp air of own subconscious. Legs made strong by a long journey give way to the temptation of the moment. I am sinking.
The purpose of this arrival remains unclear, yet arrived I have. I want to shout to the demon before me that things are different this time, that I have mastered what I was sent to master. I steel myself to the battle about to happen and then the subtle, soft voice stops me in my tracks.
I know that voice. I have never forgotten it. It is as much a part of me as my own flesh, very much a weakness that turns my mind against me. Old scars seem to reopen on their own, and the echoes of stories past as my knees give way; my breath difficult to recover as my form falls to the floor.
“I am different. You do not know me,” I shout as I tumble. I wish to stand, but can find no strength in my legs. My arms give way as I try to recover, and I notice little words etched on the floor as it meets my chest with a thump. These are words I have long forgotten. These are words I have not uttered since…
…then.
Moments of suffering tumble on top of me as memories flood my heart. I can remember etching those words so very long ago, during the dark times. I can remembering uttering each of them as the pain poured from my chest. Words I cannot speak now are words I once believed. I read them, but cannot find the strength to says them. It was in my weakness that I wrote the prose, and it to that weakness that I desperately do not want to return. I wish to be awake, to end this nightmare, but sleep has a hold upon my heart.
I search for some sanctuary wondering what will be next. Her voice comes at me from every angle, and though I feel paralyzed with fear I search for her acceptance. There I will feel safe again. There I will feel loved. Words that she gave me, words that I agreed to, were words that would drive me to seek shelter within her.
When her touch finally came, my body let loose a shudder and a sigh at the same time. Sliding backwards I came to rest on her lap, my head laying nestled on her naked breasts.
“Don’t worry, I’m here,” she whispered, comforting me with gentle strokes of her hand.
“But I have changed,” came my reply. “I don’t need…” her lips silence my own, my thoughts drifting to a time when this was all I needed, all I longed for. I could feel weakness return as I sought her approval, and longed for her acceptance. I knew I would fail, as I always had, because that is what I do.
Yet I buried my head deeper in her chest. Approval never known was within my grasp. Soon, she would see me as I am, and love me just the same.
Nothing. I tried to get closer to her, murmuring a mantra of change, of strength, of rising to the heights of my own desire. Still nothing. I waiting to see what I would need to do next simply to be loved.
Nothing.
I had sunk once again to the hollows, looking for the features in my space that would remind me of what I had achieved. I had to get away from here, knowing that the great love within my heart would never be realized in the space where I had stumbled once again. I would love the voice forever, knowing that even deafness would not render it silent.
Awakened, I moved away. This time I was on my own as I found the strength to move toward the door I had fallen through before. I wanted to stay, and I could feel the stinging bite of tears flow down my cheeks as I opened the door. I may have even muttered a sob as I tried to regain my breath. All I knew is that despite my desire to get out of that room, part of me wanted to stay.
It is in the hollows of this life that I have found myself. In the weakness I discover the unrealized strength that drives me forward. In the darkness I uncover the ability to see without the light, and to miss its absence only long enough to find it again. In the dream I discover the ability to awaken regardless of how strong the gravity of that memory. It is in the words that I have etched on the rock bottom of my life that I find a mixture of truth and the lie which are, undeniably, a part of who I am.
Neither the summit nor the valley defines me. Each has left its own mark of comedy and tragedy on the pages of my life. I am not a beast until I am the whimpering pup. I am not the lion until I have first survived as a cub. I am not strong without my weakness, nor am I courageous without my fear. I have not the will, nor the ability, to honestly deny either.
