Conquering

My heart softened just enough to allow a momentary dash of surrender to embellish me. It came over me like a fleeting amount of delirium where forgiveness seemed plausible, that is, as possible as rewriting history can be. I felt as if all could be erased, null and void.

Yes! Surely the passage of time could render all scars sliced through the very soul of me if my only request was to be heard out by you. Why, after decades reeling between us, listening would be your absolution. Right?

No. Just as saving the Titanic and all the people flailing about drowning, screaming in treacherous tones that were muted by inevitable consequences of their reality, I changed nothing. History is history. It's yours to live with.

Perhaps my fingers moved across the keyboard with a swift gesture of childish love; looking back, fever was forcing it's way through my weakening veins which likely spawned my emotional crest.

Days have passed and I ask only how the tears on the inside escaped? Am I not as strong as the wild gusts that rock my shelter, the pelleting hail against the windows, the powerful, full moon swelling up the seas?

My fever has broke, healing begins slowly. Inside I can wane and wander, but TRUTH is so much better than waving a frail flag of concession when the heart longs for something it never had.

Friend, foe? We are neither; to rise up to that which has been, to accept the complexities of another trial is a task I am too worn down for.

The word forgiveness has been written in so many languages, spoken in so many tongues, and yet it is still up to me alone to define. I am my own saviour, my sage is the essence of time, be it hours or an eternal quest, it is my call.

I leave it all alone now, tucked away in my garnet beaded heart. My tears are from the inside now.