I keep trying to soften, move, heal this illness lodged in my throat but when I let go into it, I lose myself. Somehow it leads to that in-between place; Dreaming awake of realities other than this.
I can’t tell you much of that story, it isn’t mine to tell. The only thing I clearly remember is the shock that carries me back from that plane to this in a sudden spasm of simultaneous remembering and forgetting.
It’s a feeling of grief that is bigger than all of us trapped in these stories. A grief so solid that I can not move through it, in fact I can not move at all. But something can something does and I end up back here, with the ache of that grief held fast where my wings might have been.
Back here, Where I’m still hopeful there’s a key a clue, a secret to growing my wings back. Still looking for a way to really clear my throat, and tell you what I really mean. So I can let all the worlds know what truth we hide behind.
