Remember when royalty was just a step away from your Father's shoulder? Remember when he scooped you up and you giggled? The world was a finer view then and you dreamt a fairytale ending, perched on his shoulders you called fondly your throne. We were young then, When expectations didn't break us, When storms of reality hadn't quite made its way to our door because our father took all of life's beatings and bullets for us.
I carry my father's dreams, Because his wise aged body had to brave it for me but every time he did, his shoulders stooped lower and his spine grew crooked. The greys on his head multiplied by triples. I am my father's dream. I am what he could never be and what he could never be, he wanted it all for me because he'd say, it'll make living easier.
My father says it is easier to make a lion's roar but harder to ward off a bee's sting. And he'd tell me of a battle the lion and the bees fought and while the bees buzzed and sprayed sting, the lion roared his life away. And now our role reverse, I am often the lion mired in failures and procrastination, and very less the sting my father taught me to be. I seem to keep chasing cars and when I take too much a beating I wish I hadn't outgrown my father's shoulder.
I am made of my father's dreams, A wish he breathed into me when he showed me the cerulean sky from his shoulder. Ever since I have wanted to carve my name in bold gold letters into it and fly it alongside him. And while the sky is vast and the fluffy clouds can lead you astray I find I still have the will to ask, What good are dreams if one day you rue not chasing them? And if it gets too hard I can very easily go back to my father's arms for solace even if I have outgrown his shoulders.
Jamie, you know people leave but places don't. They exist holding back all the memories, fragments and essences together. It is the way it has been. It is the way it will always be.
We are the places our footprints have set on. A bittersweet reminder of what once was and what will never be anymore. Memories and fragrances engrained in the wind, parts and pieces of us scattered and preserved everywhere we've been to- the bench we sat together watching the November sunset, a regular stroll down the street every evening, our favourite cafe hangouts, the old library at 45 Main Street where we lost ourselves. Years to come, these places we've been to, will hold what we once cherished - the friendship, the love and the happiness - An ancient museum resplendent in rich bittersweet treasures.
Do not therefore grieve too much Jamie. Grief, in its nature, grow roots and oftentimes, flowers thorns. In your grief you say you've lost your will to live. The absurdity of it all! You put the heavens to shame for the life they trusted you with. Live! Live even if it breaks you and Hope will find you like a lighted lantern in your otherwise starless night sky. Do not also hold too much in. I believe we become the void we silence.
Why then do you frown? Allow me to smoothen those creases your face has become. Mind, it doesn't collect dust. They say wisdom is hard earned. Let me scoff there. I say wisdom corrodes innocence. Do not be so wise you forget the touch of innocence. You see, innocence is the fresh bud of spring, the glee in mirth and the child you see dancing crazily in the pouring rain. It is not always good to carry an umbrella.
You say it breaks your heart to have lost her. But what is love if it doesn't break you? Is it even love? When the tears on your cheeks dry, the pain in your heart will dull a little. Time, you see, is a great paradox. A giver, a taker. It wouldn't flinch when it takes from you. It neither will, when it gives you.
Oh! It's a lovely day outside. It'll be a shame to waste it on our sufferings. Fancy going down the beach again? The waves are calling and I'd like to frolick a little. I trust they've been missing their old lovers.
He plants me with care putting me in a position the sun can pat me so with it I can grow happily he talks to and waters me giving me what I need to grow everyday he's been there as I grew from the ground from a seed
I bloom so wonderfully he said he was proud of me I could hear it in his voice yet I look around and see other flowers just like me I was confused by this revelation how could he be all of our caretaker yet I watch him do what he does for me with them helping them bloom for him
Sometimes we think the ones that are there for us are meant to be the one. But not everyone is the one. Sometimes they are just there to help us to grow to be the person we need to be. So allow the nourishment and realize the true gardener behind the temporary caretaker "GOD"