shadows

I used to say things like: This is what I want to do. I think I'll try for this. Just to see how it felt to say it, and to gauge the reactions -- which were half-hearted at best. I liked the sound of the words, knew what I wanted, hoped it was good. I liked the idea that it was possible to say what you wanted to do, and then do it. But no one in my life reflected that back to me, stood by me, or really wanted me to succeed.

So I was a ghost, and I could not leave. I knew something wasn't right, not yet. I needed closure, and closure was not forthcoming. No one was going to offer it to me -- especially while I was invisible, a seething shadow; deceived into following in other people's footsteps, separated from my own Self, my own heart. It hurt. And I was angry. I'm still angry.

Because my Self and I hardly know each other, now. I need Wendy, with her needle and thread, to stitch us back together so that we move in sync again. Shadows are slippery things; it's difficult to convince them to stay. And I've been a Shadow for so long.