Honestly Honesty

Over the years, I have stopped saying the things I really do want to say. Unless of course, I am vexed to the point that it's no holds barred.

It's a good habit to inculcate - holding one's tongue - except when it's really things that are nice, true and quite possibly honesty in its utter nakedness.

In my last post, I rationaled as to why I don't do the things which any sane person would do, hiding behind a barrage of excuses, all of which old and staid. The most famous of them being "been there, done that, got proven right."

All the times I tightly held the door shut, it was just me weeping behind a piece of wood, in a silent corridor. How can I fall asleep whispering "Good night wherever you are" to the moon in the sky, following it with "you are much thought of and loved" when I still hold the door tightly shut? 

It appears I do not know the meaning of "love" when I can cast it aside so easily, sweeping it under the carpet like another other dust bunny. Treating it as if it is an object, a possession to be owned. When clearly, it is not.

I have just finished reading By the River Piedra I sat and Wept, in which it says "that to surrender to love we must break through our fears and break all the rules and formulae." And in thinking back, the times when I left the door slightly ajar, wide enough for a breeze to flow through, I was nothing but pleasantly surprised.

It's a hot evening, but the light breeze flowing thru is strong enough to break these walls that I have been diligently building and fortifying the last month.

And so she said "I sure do miss you", anticipating silence to once again follow, and then willing herself not to look at the reply when that followed shortly after. Until the dam broke and the walls crumbled...

"Me too" it said.