WHEN WE WANT TO GO BACK
What happens when we want to go back?
Back to the memories. Back to the places that seem so far away. Back to the ones we lost along the way.
We find ourselves sitting there alone in the evening. The sound of wind howling outside our walls and the silver rays of moonlight coming in through the window.
It is there in the silence, in the loneliness, in the evening that we find ourselves going backward. Back to where we were. Back to who we were.
Why does this matter I wonder? Why do we find ourselves drifting back and returning to the past? What is it that we are trying to accomplish?
Is it that we desire to fix our mistakes? Do we want to adjust the events that happened to us? Does that stem from what we know now?
We are smarter now. We are stronger. We understand and see and know things we didn’t know before. And we also know that if given the chance to go back, equipped with these things, those things of the past would have turned out very differently.
But it doesn’t work that way, does it?
In truth, if we were to go back, if we were to return to where we once were we would then have to return to who we once were.
And we can’t have that.
I look around at my life. My world. Everything it is, everything I’ve become and as I glanced behind I realize that I would never want to return to that place. Even to change it. I would not want to change anything.
Because look at us. Look at who we have become.
Such people. Such warriors. Such humans.
It seems far away now. Like a dream, I had as a child that is now blurry and hard to recall.
I can see faces. I can hear voices. I remember emotions, both good and both bad.
The past is not always bad but we were never meant to go back.
So as we find ourselves wanting to go back. Looking behind us at the person we were and the places we had gone, we must remind ourselves of who we are now. Who we’ve become. And that we are better off than we were. Much better.
And that in truth, if given the chance, we really wouldn’t want to go back.
She was Guinevere Starchild…
The heart she cries. She screams and aches and tears against my chest. She begs. She pleads. She violently thrashes within me. She cries out for something different. Something real. Something to touch her, ignite her, and set her free. She will not be ignored. She...
And what do we do when we are afraid to try again? When the voices and feelings of doubt start to close in around us? We stare at the canvas, the page, the screen. Staring and afraid. Afraid that we might not be able to create as we once did. Afraid that we have...