forgiveness

If I should die this very moment
I wouldn't fear
For I've never known completeness
Like being here
Wrapped in the warmth of you
Loving every breath of you
Still my heart this moment
Or it might burst
...............................................................

All this time I've loved you
And never known your face
All this time I've missed you
And searched this human race
Here is true peace
Here my heart most calm
Safe in your soul... (Lamb, Gorecki)



Cold white glare noon clouds grey muffled wind sound tongue stuck to the roof of the mouth no words to say no words come out why won't they...

She squints against the glare, diffuse light piercing to the back of her brain. Sticky wet underfoot clings as she walks, the path familiar even disguised in robes of winter. The river: there. The bridge: there. No grassy field now, only unbroken white. It has stopped falling from the sky only for a breath, and she, suffocated for once by warmth and love of family, had ventured out to be lost in its icy waste.

Who was the girl that once walked here, lost in fantasy and nebulous longing? Untouched yet by true desire, grasping at the fringes of womanhood, yet so much a child? Open and callous as children are. How could she have known what was truly lying in wait to awaken in her heart, her spirit.... her essence. How it clung, even now, tendrils slender and delicate, stronger than iron, crumbling her edges.

Changed, but no one knew. Altered, but those closest to her could not tell.

It was Him.

Like a disease, an ecstasy of pain that had become an addiction, he lived and grew in her mind. She dreamed him, in darkness and wind and twisted stone and white feathers tumbling down. She imagined him in waking, beautiful malevolence, eyes searing her to the core. And now as she walked not really seeing, the sun at zenith half blinding her, he floated there also, wings outstretched, in between seeing and not seeing. As she remembered him last, in blinding brilliance, hand outstretched to her in entreaty.

The question rose up from the place in her heart where she locked it away, kept it safe.

Why?

Why?

The question tries to escape its prison when she is acting out her life, when she is surrounded by light and love and the happiness of others. It tries to be heard, whispers in her ear, and it smothers her with guilt. Should she not be happy, here, in the perfect bubble of her perfect world?

Only now when she is alone, does she allow herself to unlock that place, lift out the secret question, and hold it to herself.

Why did I refuse?  Was it pride, stubbornness, the knowledge that the heroine must defeat the villain, that is was all predestined? Was it fear of what she saw in his eyes, heard in his voice? Was she too young, too stupid, too headstrong, to know what she was really doing? The woman she was becoming had seen those eyes, and knew what they were saying. The child had defiantly turned away and spurned the offer, felt justified, righteous.

Thoughts swirled through her head, like the snow that was beginning to swirl around her again. The thick flakes melted unheeded on her lashes and lips, as her feet carried her onwards. There, the bridge, and perched on it, as unmoving as the stone it rested upon, was the owl. The next icy breath stops in her throat, which closes as suddenly as her heart stops beating. The memories, breaking through the fragile barrier that held them back, now threaten to overwhelm.

A slick, slippery patch of ice underfoot, and she falls, slowly, snowflakes drifting past her eyes like feathers. A blizzard, scraps of white, wheel around in slow motion, as she falls into the darkness.

An eternity passes. When she becomes aware, it is of a strange warmth, and whiteness. Opening her eyes, she discovers they are already open. Focus returns, and she stands once again on the snow. Beside her, a shape lies covered in a blanket of soft whiteness. Around, dark firs dressed in snow, above, a steely sky, the light causing her to squint slightly. And before her, where the owl had perched- there she saw a dark shape, kneeling in the snow.

Feeling as though she has left something behind, she takes a step forward, lighter now, almost buoyant. The figure slowly raises its head, and now she sees fair hair, moving slightly in a wind she cannot feel. Then the eyes, filled with an expression that she cannot define, that causes her heart to clench in her chest. Another step forward she takes, no icy clouds of breath streaming from her mouth. His face, now clear – aquiline nose, sharply sensual mouth, the face of a wild bird, a predator. But it is full of something else as well. Another step, and another, and now she is standing before him. Still he does not rise, and the breeze that does not touch her picks up, whipping hair and cloak about him, the only movement in this landscape. His voice comes to her now, low, carried to her ears softly.

"Sarah." As if speaking her name is agony, his eyes slide shut for a moment. "Forgive me... I could not wait any longer." His eyes flicker to the place she has walked from. Turning, she looks once more at the curious lump in the snow, so familiar, and yet she is already forgetting. She turns back to him, beginning to understand.

One hand extends, and after a moment's hesitation, she dares to touch him. He is warmth, and feels more real than anything else around her. Cloth and flesh and bone and heat, travelling up her arm, slowly filling her body with a strange kind of life. Her heart, which she had forgotten existed for a time, begins to beat again with a lurch that makes her gasp. Now she breathes again, and her breath is a warm cloud, surrounding both their faces. A warm hand slides inside her coat, around her waist, and she leans into this half embrace. Resting her forehead against his, a benediction, absolution, forgiveness – she feels the release within her, ties broken, fully accepting.

His flesh is heat against hers, their bodies barely touching. With her newfound breath, she whispers,

"I know..."