There I sit, legs crossed, stroking the probability of no tomorrow. Finger poised, resting above self-destruction. How many times have I reached this crossroad? How many times have I turned down the wrong path? How many times have I chosen to remain alone? Indecision and fear. Helplessly hoping my soul will emerge from the remains of a former self. Peace has danced around me from time to time, teasing, showing its face and then turning away before it is recognized.
Many years adrift, I awoke to foreign shores. Upon landing, I took to foot. Soon, deep impressions in the sand open my dark eyes to a beauty never before known to me. I traced each step, so careful not to break the rhythm. I walked for what seemed a lifetime. Then the footprints stopped. I raised my head to look around and suddenly, I realize I have been there before. In fact, I had never left. The footprints followed had been my own. The newness, the peace, the beauty had all been an illusion. I had ended just where I had begun. By allowing my heart to surface, I had merely masked the truth. A truth I have known for so long, a truth I’ve been too afraid to change.
The truth is myself.
In all its ugliness it stood before me. My fear drew me back to myself. I took my hand and together we walked back, trying desperately to avoid the impressions in the sand. But each step fell perfectly in line, filling each hole with that which had made it.