I have begun to hate the night, the endless chasing of the sun and the moon across the skies. The night is to quiet, the mind has time to sort thru things and linger upon much, delving into hidden abscesses I would rather not incise. During the day I keep busy, so life goes on as if nothing dank and putrid has touched me, life goes on as if nothing painful and heartbreaking has happened. Why?
That is relatively easy, I have been helping the elders of the clan pack and prepare their wagons, I have been drying and seasoning strips of meat, taking note of what is needed for them to make the journey, my children have sought to help me with mine, I have sent them to others, mostly because there are those that are older than me and some frail and some injured that need the help more, I would rather they help those in need first. That is our way, tribe always comes first, now one or two of them thought to gainsay me as is the way of children stepping into adulthood, they think they know much when they are teenagers and in their early twenties, but they have yet to even get both feet wet with the succor of life. They know when to push and when not to, they know when I will dig my heels in and be as stubborn as the day is long, this was one of those times, they did not like it, but they saw the logic of my thought and they could not argue it. They did as I requested.
Besides, I did not need them underfoot casting worried glances about what I would or would not do, every movement and look scrutinized, I hate being hovered over,I am not a delicate wilting flower that is going to crumble in the first harsh storm, I am not some naive innocent young child that will wallow in tears of self pity, nor am I a spineless gutless wonder that I will whine about the loss and of what could have been. This does not mean that I do not yet hold an open, raw wound in my heart, it does not mean I no longer feel grief and sorrow, I just simply choose not to be a oozing, liquid mass of tears and emotions. I feel much but I lock even more away, I have found myself rebuilding the wall, I find myself caring less and less of people and situations. I have in some manner taken a blade and cut myself of to various ties that once were binding and once meant something. I see much, I see thru the veils and walls placed, I see history repeating itself. And when it does that will be the time that I will draw my last breath upon the plains.
I have come to the realization for the first time I cannot keep a promise I made.
It is the night when I think upon these things and the faces that belong to these things, it is also the night that I go to do something and I am painfully reminded of the absence of my mate, I find myself in the middle of the night crouched in the darkness, holding myself and crying, cursing the fact that he left me, of the things that we planned and the loss of those hopes and dreams. I find my hands curled in the furs cursing the skies and any other manner of spiritual entity that I can think of, I find myself slipping away slowly each day, only a shell of me is there but the heart and spirit is not, the light of life has dimmed in my eyes, I am allowing it to consume me, the shadows grow heavier and thicker about me, I no longer care to fight them.
I cannot keep the promise that I made.
When I have the good days they are good, when I have the bad days they are dank,maggot infested days, I find myself swallowed up by an endless hole, though I try to climb out I feel the nails break and the flesh crack, the blood is emptied thru the holes in my spirit, the further I fall the harder it is to get up, I feel the fire lick at my flesh searing and tearing it away, biting and kissing the exposed nerves and tissues, the throbbing of my heart as it disintegrates into nothing, they say I must be strong and that I must go on, what happens if I do not want to be strong?
Skies forgive me, I do not think I can keep the promise I made.
That is relatively easy, I have been helping the elders of the clan pack and prepare their wagons, I have been drying and seasoning strips of meat, taking note of what is needed for them to make the journey, my children have sought to help me with mine, I have sent them to others, mostly because there are those that are older than me and some frail and some injured that need the help more, I would rather they help those in need first. That is our way, tribe always comes first, now one or two of them thought to gainsay me as is the way of children stepping into adulthood, they think they know much when they are teenagers and in their early twenties, but they have yet to even get both feet wet with the succor of life. They know when to push and when not to, they know when I will dig my heels in and be as stubborn as the day is long, this was one of those times, they did not like it, but they saw the logic of my thought and they could not argue it. They did as I requested.
Besides, I did not need them underfoot casting worried glances about what I would or would not do, every movement and look scrutinized, I hate being hovered over,I am not a delicate wilting flower that is going to crumble in the first harsh storm, I am not some naive innocent young child that will wallow in tears of self pity, nor am I a spineless gutless wonder that I will whine about the loss and of what could have been. This does not mean that I do not yet hold an open, raw wound in my heart, it does not mean I no longer feel grief and sorrow, I just simply choose not to be a oozing, liquid mass of tears and emotions. I feel much but I lock even more away, I have found myself rebuilding the wall, I find myself caring less and less of people and situations. I have in some manner taken a blade and cut myself of to various ties that once were binding and once meant something. I see much, I see thru the veils and walls placed, I see history repeating itself. And when it does that will be the time that I will draw my last breath upon the plains.
I have come to the realization for the first time I cannot keep a promise I made.
It is the night when I think upon these things and the faces that belong to these things, it is also the night that I go to do something and I am painfully reminded of the absence of my mate, I find myself in the middle of the night crouched in the darkness, holding myself and crying, cursing the fact that he left me, of the things that we planned and the loss of those hopes and dreams. I find my hands curled in the furs cursing the skies and any other manner of spiritual entity that I can think of, I find myself slipping away slowly each day, only a shell of me is there but the heart and spirit is not, the light of life has dimmed in my eyes, I am allowing it to consume me, the shadows grow heavier and thicker about me, I no longer care to fight them.
I cannot keep the promise that I made.
When I have the good days they are good, when I have the bad days they are dank,maggot infested days, I find myself swallowed up by an endless hole, though I try to climb out I feel the nails break and the flesh crack, the blood is emptied thru the holes in my spirit, the further I fall the harder it is to get up, I feel the fire lick at my flesh searing and tearing it away, biting and kissing the exposed nerves and tissues, the throbbing of my heart as it disintegrates into nothing, they say I must be strong and that I must go on, what happens if I do not want to be strong?
Skies forgive me, I do not think I can keep the promise I made.
