After all these years I still want to be just like you. And I'm glad my imagination version of you wasn't far off; wasn't wrong. You were exactly how I knew you would be.
Dream dreams of freedom.
I think I sought you out like moth homing in on a flame. All those years ago, even then, I singled you out; picked you out from the crowd, had intentions and saw them through. To think that little girl of four had so much courage then.
Faith isn't so much a lie as what can be reality. Thoughts actually shape the outcome. Sometimes. When everything has meant nothing and all the time in between has been this huge effort of air and waste, a veering off of the path and enmeshing onselves in the overgrown fields, where we tried our hands at gardening and harvesting, only to have the crop shrink and dissipate as Persephone's light left and Demeter's lament sang loud in the chill of winter. We crossed back on the path in the blink of the eye, the comforting of that track we knew comfort in the shared journey and that was enough to restore that tiny gem of possibility that four year old so imposed in you. It was like a wind that carries the scent of yesteryear, the soothing old of the earth.
Thank you. You have remained an image within me and never once faded. So in that you have silently shone for me.
© Kay Verma