![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
intheheartTitle: Relenting
Rating: PG.
Summary: And then again.
Notes: There's a line in here from the Princess Bride; my thanks and all credit to William Goldman.
WARNING for depression.
When she thinks about it, her life has never been constant.
Oh, maybe when she was a child. Maybe before that first sudden blow, the one that shattered her so completely it took years to repair. But she thinks that when you are young your life is always constant. Everything is safe until the day it isn't; on that day you are no longer a child.
Childhood is safety, shelter. Adulthood is the tempest-tossed real world, the hurricane winds that buffet her until she feels she will shatter again. Snow, rainstorms, drought and frost, year after year, an unbreakable cycle.
--
And then again.
Snow drifting from the sky, dancing on breezes, frosting the city in white. Rainstorms beget flowers beget joy, the lengthening sunny days of spring. Drought is drought but in the dry heat of summer there is time for laziness, for sleep, for regaining what was lost in the winter. And autumn frosts call her back to rest, back inside herself where the real work begins.
Year after year it's always the same and yet always different. Year after year it all changes and endures. Her life is inconstant as the wind and yet constant as the air.
--
And then again.
There's pain, always. Frostbite, heatstroke, "he never wants to see you again." Words can cut as surely as a knife, and worse. Pain devours her, hatred tears at her, tornados of despair and self-doubt blowing all her shreds of self away. She has just enough time to gather them again, painstakingly reconstructing herself, before tornado season starts once more, but always there is something missing. One small piece lost to the storm.
The light at the end of the tunnel is not at the end of the tunnel, because there is never an end to the tunnel.
--
And then again.
Life is a tunnel, and the light at the end is a train that ends it. Life is pain and anyone who says differently is selling something, but life is not only pain. Life is music, piano keys under her fingers, a violin beneath her chin, a flute at her lips, a song in her throat. Life is joy in sad corners, bittersweet memories that make her smile through tears. Life is colored leaves in summer and crocuses in winter.
Life is air; wind on her face, breath in her lungs. Life is worth it, after all.
--
When she thinks about it, her life has always been constant.
She has always been loved. Her father first, and the God he brought to her, then Gina and Jake, her friends-now-family, who stand at her back with loyal constant strength. She has always been sad, but she can beat that back, with time and help.
She has always been musical. Her father once said even her baby-wails were like arias. She has always been strong, stronger even than she herself knew.
She has always been loved. She will always be loved.
She is herself. And that will never change.
Rating: PG.
Summary: And then again.
Notes: There's a line in here from the Princess Bride; my thanks and all credit to William Goldman.
WARNING for depression.
When she thinks about it, her life has never been constant.
Oh, maybe when she was a child. Maybe before that first sudden blow, the one that shattered her so completely it took years to repair. But she thinks that when you are young your life is always constant. Everything is safe until the day it isn't; on that day you are no longer a child.
Childhood is safety, shelter. Adulthood is the tempest-tossed real world, the hurricane winds that buffet her until she feels she will shatter again. Snow, rainstorms, drought and frost, year after year, an unbreakable cycle.
--
And then again.
Snow drifting from the sky, dancing on breezes, frosting the city in white. Rainstorms beget flowers beget joy, the lengthening sunny days of spring. Drought is drought but in the dry heat of summer there is time for laziness, for sleep, for regaining what was lost in the winter. And autumn frosts call her back to rest, back inside herself where the real work begins.
Year after year it's always the same and yet always different. Year after year it all changes and endures. Her life is inconstant as the wind and yet constant as the air.
--
And then again.
There's pain, always. Frostbite, heatstroke, "he never wants to see you again." Words can cut as surely as a knife, and worse. Pain devours her, hatred tears at her, tornados of despair and self-doubt blowing all her shreds of self away. She has just enough time to gather them again, painstakingly reconstructing herself, before tornado season starts once more, but always there is something missing. One small piece lost to the storm.
The light at the end of the tunnel is not at the end of the tunnel, because there is never an end to the tunnel.
--
And then again.
Life is a tunnel, and the light at the end is a train that ends it. Life is pain and anyone who says differently is selling something, but life is not only pain. Life is music, piano keys under her fingers, a violin beneath her chin, a flute at her lips, a song in her throat. Life is joy in sad corners, bittersweet memories that make her smile through tears. Life is colored leaves in summer and crocuses in winter.
Life is air; wind on her face, breath in her lungs. Life is worth it, after all.
--
When she thinks about it, her life has always been constant.
She has always been loved. Her father first, and the God he brought to her, then Gina and Jake, her friends-now-family, who stand at her back with loyal constant strength. She has always been sad, but she can beat that back, with time and help.
She has always been musical. Her father once said even her baby-wails were like arias. She has always been strong, stronger even than she herself knew.
She has always been loved. She will always be loved.
She is herself. And that will never change.
