Perhaps Grief’s stiff grip around my neck,
the one that robbed my throat of air and asphyxiated me,
is still coercing Mother Nature to make my walk a constant downpour.
This is always a possibility.
But what if said hold is one by one loosening its fingers, the blood gradually circulating back into its whitened knuckles?
I, too, feel recirculated, renewed, revolved,
like the sun’s final leg on her ellipsoidal path.
The colour has returned to flush my cheeks,
the radiance to frolic in my eyes
instead of being veiled by dark shadows,
because my heart has found a new light.
And it is that light, that candle’s bitty flame, that will not be extinguished
by the winds of confusion,
of muddled and undefined feelings,
of heartache.
No; this lantern follows closely behind me,
lighting the forest trail and inviting the sun to pierce through the treetops,
to illuminate the world with it.
It will not yield in guarding me,
overseeing my journey from rear attacks
and keeping my spirit warm.
Furthermore, I feel as though this light should maneuver alongside me rather than behind,
for we are equal,
we are one.
It is this light I find myself slowly clinging to
instead of the falsely beautiful mask Grief teased my heart with.
Yes; it is this new glow that I prepare to capture in a jar,
much like a firefly whose glow never fizzles out;
like a light-bulb with no expiration,
as I let it guide every direction I follow,
every footstep, one after the other.
Every breath I inhale.
Every breath I exhale,
without blowing out the flame.
