There is a place where hope can no longer summon the dawn.
It is dark and bleak—the ending of love. The mystery of imagination, a place that could never be touched, if only for a moment in time—your moment—was brought into being through kisses, intimacy, and lust.
It was true and real. It meant something.
But, in its departure nothing makes sense especially the things we used to believe in.
And, somehow, life goes on. It hurdles ahead and stands still. Its pace—inconsiderate. The molds of what it was to love hold true to their shape and the search begins to fill them with someone new—someone who will fit.
The irony of these molds is that they are cast-iron cages that require their owners to contort into distorted beings. Faint glimmers of new love or even deep pangs of desire for what was electrify the cycle of survival.
Life doesn’t end here. It just muddles through.
Then time does what was promised. It starts to heal old wounds. It allows enough space for new experiences to germinate new awareness. Then wisdom is born out of what once were shadowy corners and dim-lit caverns.
Life goes on and we start going with it.
The love that used to be the singular reason for hope, joy, and a sense of purpose gets replaced.
New lovers touch us.
New meals grace our pallets.
New weather patterns drift in and out of our lives.
Then, quite by accident, nostalgia consumes the landscape of the mind. You hear a song, smell his smell.
You see those stockings she used to wear.
We are transported and compelled to reach out.
It is innocent enough—just a “Hello.”
The word itself is innocuous. But, everything that fills the space between the syllables is potent. The bond is once again being acknowledged. The moments that have long since passed are now resurrected.
What’s more is when this gentle nudge opens the flood gates.
When you look back, it seemed clear that it was “over”. A death had occurred, you had mourned, and the remanence were neatly locked in a vault.
But now, a new breath of life is being breathed.
Never in a million years was the decree. And today is the day.
The long-lost has returned.
No amount of manufactured substance could elicit this type of high. The air is thin at the top of the mountain and senses dull.
Yet, the wisdom gained is never too far away.
The true prize of this reunion is not in the living what was again. No, it is a time to open to new clarity and brutal honesty.
Now is your time to distinguish between want and need.
Let life talk to you.
What have you learned in the time apart?
Who are you now that you weren’t back then? How can you see things differently with the past so vividly manifest in this present moment?
If love was there upon the conception of your origination, then it will be there still.
And this does not mean the same contract needs to be drawn.
Let the invitation be open. Savor all you have accomplished. Do not be hasty in your familiarity. You are a new person and the long-lost may be the same as they were. No one can predict the rate of evolution.
This is water passing through your life. At different times it has taken different forms—vapor, ice, ocean, rain, and clouds. Once again, let it take shape.
Don’t strain or rush to lay down borders yet be defined in your approach.
Simply, when the one you loved with all you had comes back into your life, be curious.
You could have tried to reach out a thousand times before and failed. But, something about this moment catalyzed the opportunity for a reinvention.
When the long-lost return, it is just another opening to find yourself.
~ Dedicated to JK
Author: Rebekah McClasky
Editor: Renée Picard
Image: you me flickr