grumpysmurf

I know not how to atone for my disappearance, my silence; for my promise lying dead and shriveled, forgotten by the side of the road

I know not how to explain the tears I feel on my face, cold, bitter, salty; taste of promises broken, dreams shattered before they had a chance to form

I know that I died once before. Not all the way, but in the most important ways. In the same ways I'm dying again.

I know that I cried once, in a City I once called Home. I know now that those were not tears of joy, of pain, of hope, or of regret; they were the tears of birth, of birthing, of the excruciating joy of rebirth, for that which was dead in me was struggling to be, was being, born anew, to gasp it's first breath of new life, to turn and witness it's own resurrection.

I knew, for a short time at least, what it was to be fully alive, alive in every way.

I know that that which is born hale and hearty, ever so strong and hopeful, is still small and weak, even though it grow faster than imagination or understanding; more so.

I know I have loved, that I love. I know that love is the cruellest lie, the greatest curse.

I know that I've been Love's Fool, that I have danced my dance for Love's wicked amusement; I have danced long, and danced hard. Danced until I was broken again, danced until my heart shattered