On The Days You Can Only Trace The Rainbows
Oh, love that will not let me go | I rest me weary soul in Thee |I give You back this life I owe | And in Your ocean depths its flow | May richer fuller be | George Matheson
I stared into the wall at nights in my bed as a little girl.
It was actually the moonlight slipping into the room, through the edge of the window curtains.
But, I looked at how white the light pierced into the paint.
Yet, it wasn’t so bright. Because my room was still swathed in the quiet serenity of the dark.
The patch of light would float softly along my wall, like the arms of a willow tree’s leaves reflecting onto the water, yawning ever so slightly in the gentle breeze.
It felt good to me somehow to feel lost in that gaze.
Because I wanted all my troubles to go away.
Because for a moment, I would forget everything — the things that had been said and the me-who-I-became when they were spoken. Even the dreams that I wanted to dream.
And as I nestled my cheek into the pillow, wrapping my arms and legs into the folding crevices of the covers, I’d scoot my way close to the wall, where my bed found its home parked in one corner of the room…
To be continued…
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