Not with shame do I bear my scars nor with pride are they worn – each was earned on its own field and I owe them what I’ve sworn. Some long faded still ache at times, less of the flesh and more in the soul; those the deepest were wrought in the storms between you and I and remind me I am old. Those on the surface betray the secrets so carefully hidden beneath the skin; they crack and they bleed and echo the cries of a thousand nightmares mirroring my sins. My scars I’ll keep to remember me by as I wither and my spirit fades; I wear them with joy at having lived and loved, thankful for the pain.
This sudden reality wasn’t so sudden – it was always there, just not always as it is now: veiled and cloaked behind a wall of light radiant and full, naked in its splendor, a truth hidden only by perception.
Your light was not as bright as I believed it to be, but I allowed myself to be blinded by it; I caught the sun and held it for a moment and even in burning I held onto a hope misguided and misplaced, dimmed by darkening skies and the frailty of reason. I only sought truth in your illumination and to share the peace between artist and Muse. Instead I found I was the light in your shadow.
Look out and see beyond yourself and the walls that you’ve built; offer only that you’re willing to receive without condition; vanish doubt and uncertainty with hope and faith; earn what you want by freely giving the same without being asked.
Remember well what I try to forget those things we shared I don’t want to regret. Whisper my name when you hear those words and echo the lyrics when that melody’s heard. Miss me in moments when you want time to slow down and stop and imagine you’re mine. And when it is cold with no warmth to be found hold onto dreams no longer bound by the burden of love or what you once knew, just forgive me the sins I’ve made against you.
I want to go to sleep so that time will pass but I’m afraid that I’ll miss what may be, that I’ll miss my chance to live to love to laugh and if nothing else to be.
From nothing we come to nothing we go – we are merely tides in the ebb and flow of creation unfolding; the progress of art in its natural state, the process of being carrying its weight… entropy upholding what was what is and what will not be.