I catch myself drifting into daydreams sometimes, where I envision the perfect partner, an ideal life and the warmth of being held by someone who truly understands me.
I see myself writing at an antique desk with a cup of coffee in hand on a cold winter morning. I look out to large canopying trees and the sun glistening off the lake behind them. As I create worlds within worlds on my keyboard, I feel arms wrap around my shoulders like an embrace long awaited and lips as soft as peach skin on my neck.
This is home. This is what I've been waiting for.
I see the fern and emerald shades of the mighty oaks and pines. I smell the frozen lake, present and still in her piercing beauty. I hear the robin and kestrel nestling deeper into their humble refuges. I feel comfort in knowing that I've found the person who sees me in all of my imperfections, and cradles the fragility of flawed love.
This is the world my mind travels to in moments where I seek more than what I already possess. This is the dream my mind has come to believe as home.
What is home now though? Where do I find refuge when there are no hands coasting the length of my back or eyes peering into mine lighting darkened corners of abandoned rooms I'd forgotten of long ago?
I think of how in this solitude, in the loneliness that creeps along walls and ceilings on nights that stretch into eternity, how this may be one of the last times of my life that I'm truly alone. For this is indeed the first time that I'm experiencing seclusion this way.
As my heart longs to love and be loved in a rare and destined form, I see how the absence of my desires being fulfilled has created a strength as solid as stone. When the moon is the only radiance my eyes can see, and my body craves heat from another's against it, I remember how I've learned the greatest freedom in autonomy. I remind myself that I'll miss this version of my life when my love comes along. I'll remember how I dreamt of steadfast commitment, but wish that I adored my own company more.
This is the season of my becoming.
This is nightfall before flowers bloom.
This is where I'll meet myself, greet myself and love myself.
This is where it all begins.
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