Some years ago,
when I was far braver and much less capable of love
a hook set into my jaw.
Unaware of what it was entirely I tugged at it,
yanked it from here to there without concern.
My curiosity pulled the string attached until taught.
A straight line was in view,
from my jaw to wherever that line was to lead me.
And I would follow along for however long it took.
As time continued on, and the face of the clock laughed into mine,
I thought I knew the definition of a straight line,
the space in between point A and point B.
The line never curved left or right,
but it rose, and it fell,
so effortlessly in the passing winds of others trailing their own lines.
When the sun was perfectly still behind the clouds,
just enough to see her radiate on her own,
I would catch a glimpse of this beautifully slender but fierce figure holding tight the other end.
We waited and held with all our might,
but we became tired, and she became fixated on these sights way beyond me.
And I, without even knowing it, began to look right through her.
We'd never leave each others vision,
but we let our eyes wander as far as they could,
all along knowing we would never catch up to one another.
Older, wiser, and a bit torn at the seams,
we still hold onto that line, that defines a path we could never truly grasp,
in every sense of the word.
There is a love there that hardly fits into a neat and tidy box,
one that, at times, may cross over to other lines,
but one that will never fray and snap under the pressure.
It stretches. Further and more distant but still there.
It is a bond that we have been laying at the feet of our enemies.
And the breadcrumbs, just in case we ever need them to find home.
The tiny, powerful, and truly remarkable vision at the end of my line has never changed,
She taught me some years ago the true definition of a straight line,
And the only thing that will change is the way we'll constantly redefine that definition.
Saturday, June 1, 2013
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