If Only.
In a sky of colour, what do you see?
For there is light shining through,
illuminated by dark.
The shadows casting themselves upon the cushioning of light.
Every tale co-creates with both. The ongoing entanglement of good and bad.
Although the weight of it all can be vast.
As one believes true, it is not so in comparison to another.
If only I could let you in.
If only, for it could be so good. I do not hesitate to understand that.
Your very existence filling my dreams with touch and romance, like a feather softening stone.
A space of light, where it does not rain, where the sun will always shine.
And yet, no matter how perfect, this is not my world.
Your experiences wrapped up in a silk lining.
Forever untouched, attempting to heal one made of steel.
For this, I will never soften. For this, I will always feel untethered.
I do not see this as bad. Nor sad. Nor a mountain to conquer.
As various weights all exist within the same four walls, all for a purpose, all with good intent.
Yet this backpack I carry, the weight,
it’s heavier than most.
Maybe a burden for some.
And I only seem to take it off my back in the company of one.
There is one.
Who can see this weight.
Who has carried the same.
Who will never look at me with pity or shame.
One, who no matter the skies colour, will always catch me.
One, who no matter the stone or steel, will always break through.
One, who holds no feather, who has no silk lining, who is built on rock as hard as the very earth we stand upon.
If only I could dream a new path.
If only you could see me.
Yet it will always be this way, as you see what you desire to see.
To stand next to me, not above, not below, our structure needs to be the same.
If only, to be equal.
If only, you will continue to say…
It is not your fault. I do not wish you to change. I do not desire you to bend.
Oh the mastery of you, the brilliance, they appeal.
I could watch you all day.
Yet this is a choice. My choice. One I do not take lightly.
No hope, you ponder?
Well, choices can change,
as growth becomes possible the moment I stop mistaking familiarity as truth…
So perhaps, time is our friend.
