Wednesday, April 24, 2013


Reconciling the past is something I've struggled with my entire life.
It is the black and white silent movies that play as I fall asleep in my mind's eye, it is the whisper in the dark when I am driving with no destination, it is the voice of the rain and the tiny hidden molecules that make up every breath I take, and every breath I exhale. 
I've wrestled with a meaning for all of this for four years, as two separate and somehow simultaneously connected lives moved along their paths at break-neck speeds. 
I've tried to find an answer and a purpose and to ascertain the exact destiny that must be written out somewhere, but not in any place I've ever been taken to.
The strange thing is that at this point I am happy to take a back seat on the journey. 
I am happy to let go and strop searching, and allow this to unfold however it will - or scarier: however it won't. 
As I unpack our stories and our history night after night in my memory, the answers that always seemed so infuriatingly close, but still unattainable, are now less important to me than the simple act of remembering, and being grateful for what was.
Regardless of what will, or will never be.

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