The Cusp

The birds sing for midday, for morning and the start of night. I sing for freedom, for redemption, and the end of fear. Summer kissed my forehead today, and rested gently on my shoulder, as a long-forgotten friend. After all that has happened, I still feel as though something is not quite right. I feel a little left behind with the progressing season, a little out of place. The inner change that exploded and settled is not present in the outer; something that I know I must manifest myself. I'm searching now for the courage to do so, the courage to keep my head above waves of self-pity.

Maybe I'll always be a little uncomfortable with exposing the deep-running rivelts of my feelings. Like silver veined mountains, I reach in to dig and ever remove more ore than element, ever reveil much less than what strems in thick purity beneith the surface. For fear, as usual, plays a leading role in living, and tightens doubts around my throat before it finds the notes to sing.

Like a long-forgotten friend, I fish through pages of meaning in search of myself. Was I there, have I been here, did happiness really exist, was it really all that sorrowful? I broke a key off in my heart a long time ago, and I'm trying anew to move beyond the circumstances of this life to define who I am, and of what value I can be. This feels like the first Summer in a long time, a very long time.