Overture

The days sneak up on me ever so carefully and shoot past me at a speed that staggers my perception. The biting cold is neither friend nor enemy, just a sharp reminder, there is work to be done. On the surface it is the same, that overwhelming drive to just be doing. The difference now lies in that unseen purpose, that towering motivation. Once I pushed forward only so I did not have to look back, accomplishing new things left no time to analyze old ones. Even then though, I was stalled. Is it a wonder that I moved so fast? Those around me do not comprehend how I spent days, nights, hours trying to untangle the mess that kept me tied to fear. Being here? No decision I have ever made was more painstakingly considered, more thoroughly examined, every angle searched for any small crack. Is it amusing to me that I knew the answer long before I accepted it? That my heart had made up my mind far before I had finished my interrogation? I look around me now, and I see layer upon layer of answers to my questions. There is no shortage of truth etched in the lines of his face. How easily running from something became running to something greater. It is true whatever forward motion I make now (though it is less of what it should be) I make with a different foundation. Frantic motions and a desperate need to move has become something graceful and fluid, I move now because I can, not because I need to. And in every movement there is that feeling of completion. That certainty that I will not lose that which I so painstakingly gained. There is only this, there is only us, and that is all that needs to be.