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  • Writer's pictureKayley Taylor


Do you ever walk into a room and your mind suddenly draws a blank? The reasons why you came into the room are gone, like shadows of smoke collecting dew drops from within the atmosphere we breathe, we exist inside. We feel what is forgotten, but that memory is ever elusive. Sitting on the floor or on the bare corner of a chair in that room, time sleeps as the metaphorical hum and clink of this pendulum tucked deep inside ourselves, only recognizes the one rhythm it repeats. We lost purpose in the simple movement of changing places with time. Seconds, minutes, hours - why did we leave one room for another?

This is reminiscent of life. On a grand scale, one that cannot be measured, merely experienced through it's passing. I have lost my pendulum, and now remain suspended, swinging free. Over the course of six months, having suffered through the loss of so much - a job, a baby, and a friend. How do you describe a broken heart? Words without spark serve as dulled arrows, their aim a compass roving across polar driftwood as gravity becomes a weight too heavy to bear. Unspoken hurt is never more vividly real or raw than when Hope is gone. Gone, but not lost.

The sun still rises the next morning, you do not understand how the world can continue on. You beg and plead with the light to lose itself in the night, and leave you to drown in it's darkness. How do you breathe without a heartbeat? The one you felt growing inside you, once so strong, is now a silent echo of your own. The earth's waterfalls would stand in awe at your tears, if only they saw the streams absorbed by your pillow. And the pendulum swings back, you remember the reasons you walked into a room. Purpose finds us when we least expect it to.

That is when, we pick up the pen, and start writing again...

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