what forgiveness is there for fear, the unnecessary fear of sorts? the one we get when a balloon we’re blowing up explodes in our face, its thin rubber, suddenly in pieces, falling in slow motion to the floor. the wedding confetti of childhood.
what forgiveness is there?
and as i pick up the tatters of my spheres of untainted colour, once so full of air, now – stickenly empty, i wonder if we learn to forgive just like we learn to stop at the crossroads of life and choose the path well-trodden. for, sunshine, we are pack creatures, us humans, going through life like cattle entering the slaughterhouse.
we scent fear in others, just like we scent fear in solitude, but we always follow the leader.
that’s what makes us human.
it makes me wonder if growing up is something to be scared of or something one must learn to forgive themselves. for fear and forgiveness are never far from each other really. what we fear, we learn to forgive. what we forgive, we often fear.
but tell me, darling, why do i fear tomorrow, its powerful wings knocking me off the pedestal you, T, X, Y, you all, put me on?
why do i tremble with the thought of entering the world a year older, learning its ways anew, clutching the straws of past like a shield?
and i know there’s no means to contain time. it trickles by, running like sand through the fingers, never pausing for breath.
but we all try.
and you must fogive me just this trying, this ever-present fear of fying without wings, for a year older, i still won’t be letting go of the marred ribbons of my life that kept me up thus far.
i want to see this confetti fly up into the sky.