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  • Writer's pictureKayley Taylor

Rust

What is a simple life? Simple doesn't truly fit me. I like to think it does, but I don't feel simplicity. Deep inside, I feel these wings that have grown thousands of years old. Rusted as they sway with the motions of life, tangled softly in repose as they accept a world I was born far removed from belonging within. My soul is old, a gypsy wild, a story igniting the pages of history as it weaves stardust petals through.


It's our choice whether we rust into dust, or continue lighting the world as stardust. Faith is a choice, holding on is a choice, letting go is a choice. Is love a choice? Do we really choose who we love? I don't know. I just don't know. Perhaps, if it's real, love chooses us.


It's nearly impossible to explain my heart, but I understand what I feel. I hear the hum of a soul that is exhausted, fragile, at a loss for this life that no longer seems to belong. So many people struggle, hurt, far worse than I do. But almost everyone I meet, belongs with someone, or they belong somewhere. I belong...to a story that cannot exist, to a story that has no happily ever after. Just one ending: goodbye. I'm a little lost right now. I walk down the same dusted midnights, always looking over my shoulder, hoping you'll be there. Only rusted footprints from the endless tears. And I'm lost in them.


There are so many walls I have to step around, stone by stone tear down. Baby mine, you have me so scared. Scared of the way I feel, scared of the what ifs, scared of how I lost you to a goodbye I was never going to be ready to say. I write you every night, a thousand thoughts running wild. I have plenty of time for you. But you ran out of time before it ever truly began, and I can't change that you are gone.


It hurts so much. In a moment, I was stripped bare and humbled. I can want you forever, but I'll always find that door closed. You've taught this dreamer to pull her head out of the clouds and pay attention to the direction of her sails. It seems the wind has been knocked out of them a little savagely lately. Perhaps that is the lovely thing about this life. We readjust our sails, there is always a breeze somewhere and a compass waiting to guide us home. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for being the closest thing to home, I've ever known.


Baby, oh how I miss you...

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