You find that the only way you can let the roses of winter spring in the harsh cold is if you nurture the fire inside your heart....
INTROSPECTION
Not all is lost that is lost to love. I watch the faint streak of evening, blanketing the fog slowly covering the horizon over plain fields and forgotten thoughts. It takes many years of healing to let go of the rising tide that churns up inside the heart. Bringing back again and again all that the heart has felt over this time. You tell yourself, hush. Slowly, slowly. As you embrace the deep abysmal pathos of self-reflection and try to bid a befitting farewell to the aches that have strangled your heart.
You find that the only way you can let the roses of winter spring in the harsh cold is if you nurture the fire inside your heart. Inside your chest, you burn down the memories of those you have lost to cremate them into eternity. Dissolving in your tears, you ink their names over your skin to pay homage to all you have experienced in your whole life.
Till you can relearn the ways of life. How loss creeps inside the fabric of daily life till it becomes a habit we can't break. And one morning you look for that smile and try to listen to those familiar footsteps, yet they disappear in thin air.
People may leave the physical world but they live inside us for the longest time. Sometimes as an ache so real it feels like burning alive. Or as a sting like an abandoned darkness held inside the mind. They continue to remind us of their presence in such tangible absence; you can sketch them back to life from nothingness, picturing them from every scar they leave behind only to finally make room for the roots they implant inside your heart with time. As thorns bloom and you are ready to embrace the hurt wholeheartedly, you let the strike hit you in full swing. Bruised but not broken, you let the hue of learning turn back to the way it was, when the world eclipsed for a second and in the dark you once again found your way back to yourself.
As you let the healing begin, walking back to life through the back door you left open, you give yourself another chance at life. Despite all that is lost: people you loved, memories you cherished, life that has changed drastically, or parts of yourself that you had to bury. You go back to the graveyard of all lost things. You see the gloom in its intricate beauty. You sit by the debacle and put flowers over your loss. To be able to hold all that once was and give it away to lost battles of love.
