The Chasm

She awoke from what seemed a lifetime of living as someone else entirely. How did she get here? Amnesia of the cruleest kind? Can your soul just wake up and change? Who was she? Her mind wandered, taking her back.

A small girl sat at a window. Her hair brushed in fine little waves along her shoulders. At first glance, she looks simple, innocent, and unadulterated. But in further light, a deep sadness begins to become visible in her small slumped frame. A teardrop along the corner of her eye begins to trace her tiny cheekbones. Slowly she folds her little body into her sheets; cradling her knees into her chest. Her pillow becomes damp as she slowly falls asleep.

She is abruptly aware of her surroundings again, feeling as though she almost touched the wound that kept her separated from that child. At what point, she wonders, do we find satisfaction and gratitude in the pain? We spend our time as young children dipping our toes in the freezing water and reaching toward the flame. Then, we might touch the flame and find satisfaction in the relief of water that once felt unpleasantly cold. Does that make the water too cold? Or was it simply intended to cool, sufficiently, the intensity of such heat. In its proper timing and environment, it served its purpose.

So then, is this not an example of our ever-developing survival skills, tinting and shading evermore our reality? If we can love those pains, can we erase the chasm keeping us from reaching the child whose spirit has been longing to rejoin us?