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Ending Is Living

The sun fades into a dim reminder of what it once was. The cold brisk wind brings memories with each penetrating strike to my warm protected skin. I am left thinking about how different we are from the deep red and burnt orange leaves that rustle above. I was once plush and full of aspirations, now confined to living, not knowing which gust will take me next. Seeing, regretting the ones missed. Fearful of where it might take me, like a protective parent, afraid to let go. Like autumn, I am stuck between the seemingly everlasting cold withering darkness and exuberant lively warmth of a summer's sun. Now knowing there are no endings nor its companion and counterpart. Rather nonstop evolution of experiences, love and disappointment. One not felt without the other. So I begin to ask myself, when is it my turn? When will I get swept away in a vortex of emotion not to return to the safe serenity I know as my inner sanctuary? I do know I am not plush, but nearing a crisp vibrant state in which one day will blow me away forever. Into what I will not ask, but I do know it will be new. I will be living soon. I will be living.

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