I will soon be crossing this river. Alone. Don’t worry… it’s probably not the one you are thinking of. But it is just as wide… from here, you can’t see across to the other side.
It’s going to be hard. I started a few times but had to turn back. But now I am strong enough. This is my time.
If one who sees in shades of gray, whose ability to see in color is buried so deep within they can no longer access it, hears a detailed description of the colors he forgot, he may not believe it. It might sound like a foreign language to him, or something so devoid of meaning he lets it slip through his consciousness like the sands of time. He takes a moment to disbelieve, then goes on to the next thing.
But to another, who has held onto his latent knowledge of color, who believes it still though loss steals it from him temporarily, the words catch. They settle in and strengthen the faith that the colors are there, despite lack of visual confirmation… the hope that day by day they may fade back in… or perhaps unexpectedly, burst back into scene like frost triggers fall colors. Hope gives him strength, courage, and love. It opens doors. It transforms.
All I’ve ever wanted is to get to the other side. I see the colors. I told you about them the best I could. But everything I let go of flew over your heard. I watched the birds carrying love diminish into specks onto the horizon.
I never knew which one you were. Whether you believed or not. Why all of this? Another unanswered question. Waiting for answers was draining my strength… delaying my journey.
If you could see me as I was, as I am… if you ever even knew me… you never let me know.
And so it is. At some point we have to set our eyes on where we are going, if we ever want to make it there. And sometimes that means we leave things behind.
I’m sorry I have to go. Thank you for finally letting me. Maybe one day I’ll see you again… on the other side.