On a dark winter’s morning, she sits alone, snuggled deep inside a warm quilt, twinkling Christmas tree lights her only companion. In the stillness she cannot help but reflect on those things that are past and ponder that which is to come.
In her quest to record her thoughts, she stumbles upon a book from friends, filled with thoughtful birthday wishes. Tears gently wash her cheeks, as she considers the irony of her discovery. If she chooses to trust the authors’ sincerity then she must acknowledge her ability to have an impact on others, but she also wonders if that woman still exists.
Years pass. Locations differ. In her truest self, she remains unchanged; still a woman who perseveres against all odds, a woman whose inner child roams freely, a woman with quiet wisdom who cares deeply and yet she considers the impact of today. Is there any?
She represents the strangest of dichotomies – enjoying time alone while struggling with the desire to fit in. An introvert who wants to belong. She knows she is loved while struggling with her perception of what those expressions from others should resemble. She considers how one holds onto hope while avoiding the pain of disappointment. She seeks answers and finds none.
Her prayers seem to blow soundlessly into the wind, captured, unfulfilled. Does she ask amiss? Time is a disparaging enemy, a thief of dreams. As the calendar turns, the woman understands there is no magic held in a new year, but the girl, secretly giddy, clings innocently to her hopes.
Control hides itself, allowing her little of its power. Chasing after it is foolish for she knows it is not hers to wield. If she chooses not follow after wisdom, elusive control will master the woman and bury the girl, causing catastrophic ripples.
Perhaps the answer lies in allowing the woman a transfusion of the girl’s pure faith. The woman possesses the type of courage and relentlessness that only time and maturity bring, but untarnished faith and hope, those are born of the girl’s purity of heart.
Finally, as the sun whispers it’s greeting, both the woman and the girl burst with anticipation of what is to come.
Until Next Time,
Becky J Miller
Warrior Princess