Feb 2, 2019
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And when the saxophone begins to play that old familiar tune, I'm taken back to that place. Where it was me and you, and everything was still so new. It takes me back to the corner table at our diner, hands clasped under the table, spilt orange juice and hands sticky from too much maple syrup. It takes me back to when the sun shone on your eyes just right and I swore in that moment, I knew where I wanted to be for the rest of my life.
thewinterlilly
There were mornings I would wake To stare at my reflection And find not a single thing worth loving. There were nights I’d sit on my bedroom floor, Teary-eyed and trembling, Trying to will away the voices of distant memories into the night. There were moments where the crushing insecurities Weighed so heavy they squeezed any last joy out of me. There were highs and lows, so so many lows. Lows I never thought I’d reach. Staring up from the bottom of a pit so deep, I wondered how I had slipped so far, And how I would ever climb back up. But nowadays… There are morning I wake with a smile, Welcoming the reflection in the mirror, Imperfections and all. There are still nights where sadness comes to visit, Evenings where old nightmares come to haunt me, But they have become scarce and so far in between. There are now more highs than lows. More good days than bad. More smiles than tears. I do not know if I have escaped the pit, Or whether I’m still climbing a slippery slope With the danger of falling back at any given moment. But for now, The ground beneath me feels firm, My heart feels almost full, And the light above me, Shines brighter than ever.
S.J. | thewinterlilly
What we become
She stares at me With wide bright eyes And a smile which seemed to stretch for miles. Childish innocence was she, A bundle of energy and joy. She peers at me from her familiar dark brown eyes, Tilts her head and asks me with much eagerness, “What kind of person do I become?” She shifts in excitement, Waiting to hear some glorious tale Of how she becomes the superwoman she always imagined herself to be. How she achieved all her dreams, Became someone beautiful, Someone admirable and loved by all – A hero. How she had made her parents proud, Fallen in love and had the happy ending She always believed to be real. I crouch down so we are at eye level, Silently marvelling at how small she was. How does a body that small hold so much energy I muse. With hesitance I stretch out my hand, She grins before eagerly grasping it. I cannot help but fear for her then, She trusts too easily A trait which will one day be her downfall. But she believes you are her a voice whispers, And that thought alone makes my eyes turn glassy As I recall her uttered question. I cannot bear to break her heart, To ruin the hope and dreams her young soul possesses, To become the reason why she stops believing in the impossible. I cannot bear to reveal the ugly truth, That I am no longer her. No longer the bright, smiling young child she is. I could not protect her and our innocence, Nor our young heart from being broken From strangers I believed would grasp my outstretched hands Like she has mine. I am broken and haphazardly taped back together A pathetic excuse of what it means to be whole. My feet are worn out and tired after crossing hill after hill, Experiencing disappointment after disappointment. I no longer have the endless energy I once had, No longer look to find only the best in others, Do not stretch out my hand to hold a complete strangers, Do not smile so wide one cannot see its end. Somewhere along Having seen the darkest corners people’s souls Their darkness has rubbed off on my once glistening aura, Dampened my bright spirits And made me oh-so world weary. I no longer remember what it was to be as hopeful as she is, But I stare at her and our joined hands I think I can begin to remember an inkling of what that once must have been like And so cannot dare to break that fragile glass of innocence. Carefully I slip my hand out of hers, Missing the warmth almost immediately. She stares at me confused as I slowly stand up. I give her a small smile, a ghost of her own And carefully reply, You became whoever it is you fought to become, So dream of her everyday – the woman you want to one day be Draw her on paper, paint her across the canvas of your mind And whatever you do, fight to become her. So that you can stand here and proudly proclaim to be, The woman you always dreamed of. The corners of her mouth lift Determination shines bright in her brown eyes, “Okay! I’ll do my best!” Relief washes through me, I turn away with these final thoughts, Good. Fight little one, to become the person I gave up too easily on.
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In another time, in another life, Where I have taken these words to heart And am less broken, Less scarred by life, I take your hand in mine Firmly and with confidence. I give you a smile so wide it rivals yours. With sparkling eyes I elaborately paint for you The wonders of the person you will one day become. Of how we have run hill after hill tirelessly, How we have loved and been loved How we have reached wondrous heights And become the person we are today. You stand there mesmerised and I feel pride swell within me, Having been able to stay true to who I am. Your hand grips mind tighter, And you look up at me with such admiration And proclaim loudly, I can’t wait to become you!
An Old Piece - written on 26/11/15
SJ | TheWinterLilly
I remember waking one morning In cold sweat and tears, The demons of the night still reflecting in my dark irises. I do not recall their faces or what it is they had done. But sometimes I can't help but wonder If I ever did wake at all.
S.J. | thewinterlilly