The Mountain

You might crawl your way to the peak of the mountain. You may gather your shattered pieces in your hands. You might want to scream into the sky, begging the fates to return what was taken from you. To put back what was once placed in your arms.

You might tumble down to the streams, thrash the waters around you, curse them and their evergreen riptides; envy their ability to be constant, infinite, immortal. You may grow to seethe at the day and groan in the night.

To lament the very day you were made.

Whatever your soul longs to feel, indulge it. Your insaiatiable grief will be satisfied whether you resist it or not. This tsunami wave will conquer the defiant tide. It will break the shore and heed its obedience. Give in.

It’s not as restless as you think, there is a current, a rhythm to this pain, a cadence. A beat that will soon bleed out. A storm that will pass over.

Though it is war, it remains a battle that you can win.

We will have victory. Morning is coming for your mourning. Ecstasy awaits your agony.

Beauty lies in the after, and it will wait for you. However long, whatever way, your dawn will find you.

Your flowers will bloom again. Spring is breathing into the wind. And though your roses may have thorns, they’re still bursting with color

Drink the unabashed bliss of healing, dance in the reign of time. Sing glory to the clouds above you, cry holy to the stars up high. 

Pass through the door of understanding, step into the room of peace.

And when your mountain comes calling again, answer. Run to its peak, bask in the expanse of the sky. Carry your lost love with you, thank the day, and cater the night.

Bind your pieces into something new. Wherever your lost love rests, wish them well.

We are whole again.

We will always be made whole again.