A river is born when a single flake of snow melts off of the mountain and flows down. A single drop. That’s where it all begins. A journey of thousands of miles to the ocean mouth where it finally ceases to exist and becomes an infinite ocean.
My journey began the day I met him and fell in love instantly! He was the one to bring me this city where I found the ocean, my fearlessness to write and not just remain in the hindsight.
But … I still don’t understand … why does he not want to read what I wrote? He wants to but he doesn’t make time for it. Maybe he just says he wants to. Maybe he has been too busy of late. It will get better soon. But … how soon?
This is crazy … how can I think he doesn’t care for me? Just because he isn’t around when I need him without saying? Just because he is not around when I need him the most? Just because he never has been around … since the start … but whose fault is it? I allowed him to be like that … I put myself after him … beneath him. It is my fault … how can I blame him?
Oh my … it is my fault … I allowed him and now how can I blame him? So then what do I do now? I cannot hurt him … leave him … for my own fault. After all he is the love of my life … isn’t he?
He is the end of the journey … the ocean. The first drop fell from the mountains, the letter I wrote back became the first step to this story I have today. I met these wonderful people because of the letter. I met him … on that journey … of writing the story, my story. Oh God, why did I kiss the guy? It was a mistake after all. Why did I kiss him on that beautiful night … beneath the stars … as he told me his heart’s fear … the heart of school kid … afraid of going back to school on Monday … not wanting the twilight of this vacation to end. Is he … ?
But how can that be? No … how can that be? It cannot be. He didn’t believe in what I was doing … since the beginning … he was always so rude … not always though … he did apologise for his mistake and was the first admirer of what I wrote … he was the one to tell me I was a writer … he never said I can be one … he said I already was one! Oh my God! Is he … ?
But … how can this be? Yes … he saw me for who I was … never mistreated me after getting to know me … oh holy lord … I came to the city because of someone else … the man I thought I loved … I met this man because of him.
Is there a way ahead of the ocean for the river? I thought I reached the ocean mouth but what is this that I feel? What can be a possible way ahead of the ocean for the river?
So … I reached my ocean mouth … but I still want to go on … go on flowing … like there is still time to the ocean … that’s it … so then this is not the ocean yet … I still haev a long way to flow … why? Because I want to flow … because he does not feel liek an ocean … so then he is probably not … the ocean.
How can it be right when it started out with me allowing him to mis treat me … what kind of mis treatment? He did not abuse me … he wanted to marry me … have a life with me … but he did not want to love me. He did not see who I was, I did not show him that. So it is wrong and I must go on.
Let go of this fear that maybe this one isn’t true, the time isn’t ready yet, that I am not ready yet. The drop has melted and anything that prevents it from flowing down is not right, cannot be right, should be made right.
We are so weak, we humans. Such fragile beings set in a shell of thought that we are probably immortal. This shell, so hard to break, so hard to get past. The fragile being within, the human, barely can escape. We are prisoners of ourselves. What a tragedy!
When love strikes on our shells, the doors we have shut tight, we are terrified. It is a knock of freedom, the freedom that is the very nature of the fragile being. The wild freedom of the little creature that lies tightly closed behind shells of what is immediately urgent, social, appropriate. Creating stories and lies in our heads about how to staying fearful is so good, so right.
Oh, this fear took me away from him once. This fear took away so many Juliets from their Romeos. And I am succumbing to this fear, once again. Another in the line of tragedy queens trapped in their own clouds of fears, creating their tragedies. They drink it up, try to smoke it out, shatter around, become numb and cease to dream. Others wait for a fifty years, turning and coiling around planes and plateaus, hoping to find the ocean. But it is not until they face the fear and continue to flow – will they find the ocean of peace.