Code-crow - Crow

what are your twenties if not an endless string of the ghosts of who you thought you would become

Progress was a Latin word before it became a miracle.

Its creation owed to the combination of pro and gradi, meaning “in front, forward” and “to walk,” respectively.

That’s what progress is, isn’t it?

To walk forward.

To walk forward. Even though you’re terrified that you’re accidentally leaving something behind.

To walk forward. Even though it’s dark and you can’t see that fabled light everyone promises you’re walking towards.

Forward. Even though you don’t recognize your surroundings and feel lost and so very alone.

Even though you’ve been walking all your life and don’t think you can’t take another step.

Forward.

Forever forward.

Even when your footsteps are leadladen and so heavy onward happens in increments so infuriatingly tiny you are unable to notice the dogged-drag of the dirt shifting under your soles.

When you don’t think you deserve to take another step.

I’m coming to realize that regardless if I’m actively trying or not, I’m moving forward. We all are. That’s just what life does. It moves forward.

It progresses. A feat miraculous and terrifying.

Moving forward even though you don’t think you want to. Because you’re not ready to move on from the comfort that darkness offers. Because you don’t think you’ve earned the momentum promised by the light. Because the first hint of the light’s warmth feels like a betrayal to darkness. Because the darkness took the place of the love-stained-light that was there first. Because it feels like I should mourn the loss of light forever.

Because walking forward means progress and progress means getting better and getting better means the darkness is fading and if the darkness is fading, that means I’m no longer mourning the light. And no longer mourning the light feels like I’m leaving him behind. And if I’m leaving him behind, does that mean I miss him less? A horrific miracle: to leave love behind.

And yet, the wonders never cease!

Walking forward and leaving not my love nor his behind.

I carry them both with me.

In me,

A love taken gently and tucked in my chest for safekeeping.

So that he may be made a part of me,

An internal light to guide as I stumble forward.

As I crawl my way through the dirt of the grave and out of the darkness.

And when my coffin-bloody fingers finally break through the surface,

When my ground-chilled body finally feels the warmth of the sun again,

When my two-in-one heart starts beating again,

Like a patchwork Lazarus,

We will both rise.

Though the body that once housed his heart no longer progresses,

With each step I take,

His love walks forward

To be known by everyone I meet.

And ain’t that the biggest fucking miracle you’ve ever seen?

source

The Wise Cat. Henriëtte Ronner-Knip (1821-1909)

via

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