“He said, “Peter Pan, that’s what they call me I promise that you’ll never be lonely,” and ever since that day… I am a lost boy from Neverland, Usually hanging out with Peter Pan and when we’re bored we play in the woods, always on the run from Captain Hook. ‘Run, run, lost boy,’ they say to me, away from all of reality. Neverland is home to lost boys like me, And lost boys like me are free…”
Darling Reader, Has it really been so long?
My fingers slowly feel every key beneath my palms as I rediscover myself, so slowly, this time, surprising even myself for the time it has taken for my soul to finally submit and spark life into this walking dust. Returning here, to this computer, my soul reconnected but painfully, back to my body and returned to my own heart, is like returning home; being dead and coming back to life. These keys embrace me fully, letting me breathe deeply for the first time in months as they feel the life within me, as I breathe life into them, they sing and call my name, yearning to hear my soul cry out, confess or merely dance as I play for my own content and joy at the written word.
My cheeks overrun with my souls embrace as I let myself feel every ounce of that union. There is a fire ignited in each rebirth, but occasionally, there is great sorrow in death. Dying to oneself and allowing yourself to submit fully to such a cause comes from a passion that can only be born, never recreated and never surrendered.. It is an all or nothing kind of passion and a life worth living but not for the faint of heart. I feel the veil of that sorrow beginning to lift, clarity replacing the haze, acceptance replacing hope, rationality replacing fear and resignation in knowing the battle is done. The best was done and forward now we go..
I catch myself stretching in between thoughts just to once again, renew my skin to the feel of the computers surface and texture; How smoothly my fingers flow, once I find my rhythm. It’s so easy to take this kind of freedom for granted, the ability to be able to sit down and form a thought… for weeks now, I have sat at this very threshold and been stunned to see hours pass as I would yearn for my fingers to spin anything into something that could be produced… so many drafts left, defeated.. stuttering, stumbling and flat lining without any life behind their veins. I rejoice today, knowing that each tear shed was apparently needed to unblock these arteries, as I once again hear a dark melody calling my name and know it’s destiny is clearly written beneath each stroke. I find myself anticipating the fire and ready to obey the call, nearly aroused in my efforts, tripping over myself to get the words down… yes, it would seem I am ready.