Metaphor.
You and me.
We both often sit and think of another. Even when in the same room at the same
time and looking in the same direction we think alike. I and you. You have
wandered a century in a world forgotten by time and men, and I have stepped
into a new one, yet unexplored. There is no fear to be found, and as much as
I’d want to come with you back to the beginning, you take my hand to be lead to
the continuation. Neither knows whereto.
I have
spent years standing at unnamed edges in unnamed countries and beneath dead
mountains while you have been a rock in the raging sea, then finally quiet to
my footsteps. I have been the dunes of sand trying to cling to the last
outskirts of land and grass while you have been the mighty old trees swaying in
the same wind that touches me evermore.
We were
tears of rain balancing on newborn fledglings of plants in the spring dew.
I was a
little girl hanging onto your grown up hand, trailing behind you with long
dresses clothing my soft skin, vulnerable and innocent. You were my protector,
my guide, my absolute and most true love.
Later, you
were the laughter of my life, a house full of warmth and torn bonds weakening
under pain, blood and fright and burning picture frames full of voices. We were
sworn to the memories, and we fought idly side by side until time ran out.
Until everything we had been forced to build upon was silenced.
Until once
more I was the seed of the land of the forgotten in your heart. And all the
unknown came to begin, all over again.