This page has retired from this life.
It is kept here as a remnant of potential, past and perhaps with His permission, future.
09/16/22: the two drafts referencing my Twin have been published again, as history is something i'll keep within me, even after rejection or absence is faced. this piece below remains as part of this journey's chronicle. choices always carry their consequence, and iA one result i hope to hear the sound of your voice again. don't ask if I'm crazy, that would be rhetorical coming from sane people. life is long, arduous, and many shades of struggling, this is one of them.
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sometimes we find that fate is the surgeon, our selves the patients, not quite willing and perhaps unwitting, but blades and scalpels it uses to take from us oft without permission. part of me might be called madness, to formulate and chase what i have, from oceans of possibility ideas that others might ignore or neglect in chasms unfathomed, but i tried and try to give those remotest potentials breath of air, that maybe at least once, its gust propels me towards the Heights it seems only my mind is tantalized by. the twin is nameless, nearly undreamt, but the visages i've had, asleep or awakened, i'd never sever from prayers to my Maker to bring forward and be savored what inside i've kept long slumbered.
i know little of wisdom in timing, the beauty my eyes see He's so many times kept from my grasping, the moment a possibility forms potential in reality i'd not let the chance slip away without holding out my hand to bring it out of ether maybe into being. you saw my soul, naked as it was, so outstretched my aim, trying to bridge across oceans and atmosphere, distance and culture, propriety and semblances, i overwrote the tale before i was ready to see it unfold.
my nameless twin and i were never opposites, but for one starkest of differences: we chose oppositely 100% in the experiences we faced in life, grew or restrained in opposing directions, made choices to divest or indulge in that which was freest versus straightest-line-aim we had at hand beckoning, and eventually, she could let go the string that made faith worthwhile and reaffirming. would that He let me be her anchor, her grace, the soothing balm for trauma that no time can erase, but such intents are not mine to be fulfilled, not yet, perhaps not in this place.
i live on, carrying what i must, what He ensures i do not forget, reality tries trampling my ambition, but truly in a test of wills, it will blink out of existence before these fingers and tendons forsake the sought-after culmination of meeting my beloved. you could not crush a man that He made already out of and into dust, rather watch as His wind takes my atoms away to reform on some hilltop crested atop that momentary abyss, fashioning out of nothing a something that became nothing again, until He wills me to revive and go onward living.
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