MeliGoesRogue

I’m missing home…it was this time last year that I had taken my first steps onto that lush green landscape, my first pint with new friends. Coming back here to this part of the world reminds me of home, it reminds me in that way that a place where you never lived could be so a part of who you are.

I am an intrinsically complicated woman. Up until about an hour ago I thought that was a bad thing, I had imagined that perhaps the reason for my solitude was somehow of my own making. Yet as I see my reflection in the glass lit only by the city I find how untrue this is. The woman who looks back at me, this complicated over thinker, well she’s kind of perfect. Not perfect in how she is but in who she is. I am in control, in control of how I see myself which allows others to see me in this light. You never outgrow growth and these moments of self-doubt only mean that I am still growing. Sometimes I do see the forest for the trees. This woman that I have become has been a result of the tests God has chosen to place before me. How could you walk over burning coals and not bear the scars. These scars to someone are beautiful stories, stories of a woman whose journey has not been easy or light but whose spirit has grown from it. How could this man lay beside me each night pouring life into my belly if he did not believe I could pour into theirs. Mind you this man…well I actually have no idea where he is, could he be 4,988 miles away? I wish I knew…I wish I had faith in the fact that I dont know. I hope his hands can hold my heart, his shoulders carry my head and his arms carry me over that threshold we will one day hold. In the meantime I’ll still search for new skies and new stars, I’ll discover new parts of me that he will one day say was one of the things he fell in love with.

This journey has already begun to bear its fruit, fruit that has been peeled, sliced and served, I only need to bite. I have begun to see all these things that make me, I am my own amalgam. All the women I have known, their mistakes and unrealized dreams. There has never been such a moment of great impetus as the one that lays before me. I think…yes I think that I like this woman. Quite a bit actually. The days pass and yet so many still lie ahead I wonder if the words will still flow, sometimes they are like the breeze, fleeting and yet absolutely fulfilling. That breeze that descended from the ocean waves and pushed its way up in the hopes of finding an open window to fly thru…come fly with me she calls to me. Lose those inhibitions that keep you under the watchful eye of others, fly free past your mistakes, past those things that would stop you.

The last time I breathed this air in I could see the stars, I could feel a hand at the small of my back leading me down a broken road. Now that sweet air rises to meet me but no stars do I see, no guiding hand. Just lights…lights that illuminate the road but obscure the destination. I look toward the sky in hopes of finding a familiar sight something to connect me to that time, the road or the man on the other side of that hand, but alas all I see is the pollution of the light that rises. It’s better this way and the thinker in me knows it, she knows that these lines suffice and my mind needs rest; yet my heart well she has a mind of her own.

I struggle each day to keep both extremes of my mind and my heart at bay and yet it is in these moments of dark and light meeting that they find their peace with each other. Where the words will flow and the heart will sing and together they make beautiful music. These moments scare me and so I scurry away from them and affix my gaze elsewhere. Such blissful moments should be cherished and not standardized. I lovingly place the cork upon the spout of my heart and flush my mind with raining water as I move to the sun that will rise tomorrow.

Perhaps I will find myself at this moment again, perhaps I will hold my hands steady as they find their way upon their illuminated path; as they translate sounds, smell emotions and butterflies into letters that descend upon a blank canvas in desperate need of color of life of a little bit of me.