Dear Diary,
I am thinking about dawns and sunsets.
Not the clearing of the night or the literal act of the sun slowly sinking into the horizon but in terms of births and deaths of journeys. From the time when something is born or revealed to our evolving selves to when its light dims only for another one to replace it.
The period between strangers turning into friends or better yet lovers then back to strangers again. The times from when the sparks fly to the ones where their existence becomes your happiness to the awkwardness of sharing memories.
At the beginning of it all, we sit by our phones and jump at their every text. Then as conversations eat away our masks, everything fades into the emptiness of forced conversations and unreturned calls.
Something is born out of mutual interest and for its growth, we sacrifice what we usually wouldn't. The sweat trickling into long hours of nurturing the same goals and ideals... Then the chaos that usually erupts where two or more souls gather due to friction of different perspectives reduces everything to ash.
How do you walk away squeaky clean of the horrors that come with trusting other souls when a light violently goes out? How do you allow yourself to let them see you without the masks you adorn while roaming out there? Is there a way to restore our ability to give ourselves to other people?
Birthing ceremonies are sacred. We revel in the mystery of how fate drags everything from its usual rhythm to vibrate at a frequency of another. Spiritual connections thrive where nothing else could and divine experiences are sired.
Love blooms.
Friendships form stronger bonds.
Ties that endure seasonal tides.
Only to bow to time and need.
Death lingers more than births. Because growth arrives with the beginnings, ends leave haunting residue on the fingers of the twice bitten. Grieving takes a toll on the wilting moments and for most minds, read mine the idea of attempting to create new ones becomes a daunting task.
Dear diary, I am trying to learn how to leave grave sites early enough not to obsess over the dead. I am aware that it is impossible to live in the now while referring to what happened in the past but I am allowed to ignore the risks every time they come for a weigh-in.
What can be sown where trust no longer calls home? The walls of disappointments block the view of possible happiness and I always find myself retreating from numerous invites to build anything. Here is to embracing our adventures.
wambuku w.
