Caterpillar Contemplations

"What the caterpillar calls the end, the rest of the world calls a butterfly." Lao Tzu


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The Snow Globe

I filter through the memories.

Before sixteen we had … something – you and I.
We had trades to make, risks to take and shares to buy.
Then time moves on, it slugs through mires. And each time I look, each time I struggle to grasp onto a fragment of your presence standing by, I’m lost. The question I keep asking is, where were you?
So now. As you play your own tune, not a tune that sounds free and true and unique, but one that sounds like a broken record. As you play your tune … I’m no longer drawn. I feel no connection.
I think before, I used to hold up a bowl of memories -like a snow globe, the truth in the middle- and I would shake it. I let the fluffy white recollections dance around me. I would repeat the same story over and over so that I believed … in you. And there were people that would tap on the snow globe, they’d tap harder and harder and I’d just put on a pair of ear muffs and shout against the glass -I can’t hear you.
I told my story. And it would’ve been alright if it were true. If, at the end of the tale, the man I thought you were -was really you.
It only took a few words here to chip the shell and a few words there to form a crack. It only took one night for everything I saw before, for my truth about you, to dissolve. The water seeped away and the dancing snow feels cold around my feet.
The picture is painted so clearly now. The records are set straight. There are no misplaced affections lingering at the edges of my reality.
I know where I stand.
And it’s not beside your bed. It’s not holding your hand.
I would have, I could have.
But now, you’ve let your feelings be known, in ways – only you know how – that speak of ‘who you’ are in more eloquent words than I can explain. Because “… they had their chance.” tells us what we need to know.
And I’ve been there. Where sickness starts and death ends. I’ve stood there and looked it square in the eye and I know that I can stand the test of time. Not that you’d know. Not that you’d care to know.
So now, as you face it. I won’t be there. Because, now I know – more clearly than before – that I mean nothing. That my existence is but a blink in your eye.
All of us were … and in a blink – we are gone.
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