I had not known of white weddings and all things that accompany it. It was just going to be a dance at night by the fire place where stories of how we met, were shared. We were to be dressed in leather and feast on a wild animal. It was not an old tradition, I felt it was appropriate given that I grew up in this place, the Kalahari, was my home, I couldn’t have it any other way. But I had to sacrifice, he made promises that I thought he would not break, besides, he was not like any other man in my tribe. He did not know how to hunt, how to dance to the ancestors for thanksgiving or even how to converse in my language. But we still communicated.
I woke up from a dream which urged me to take a pen and write. To narrate the tales of before into something happening now. Tales masked by time as I grew up. Time which I forgot existed cause I never really took it into consideration just lived. I existed most of the time, the dream went. The was music playing in the background, some sort of harp. It played behind a door in which I never saw the player, but it felt like I knew him. Knew his hands because they were gentle and that urged me to write. Knew his voice because the melody was familiar. Knew his face because his silhouette showed the shape of his head, I knew. The dream went on, continuously playing to the rhythm of my heartbeat, playing my heartbreak. In that moment, I was eager and scared to see the man that played my heart. But as I came right across the chair he sat on in that room, I woke up. But somehow, in some way I knew it was him.
It is time to open doors of houses hidden within this heart. Doors locked with feelings, desires and heartbreaks through crossfires. Where we take the pen and unlock those doors…
Time never healed the wounds for her, she never forgave the hurt, never. He promised her the world, to her, he hung the moon. But soon, she realized the real him. And it was then that she unlocked the feelings inside.
The scars vivid to their sights are just face value. They did not feel the cutting, the bleeding, the healing. The ways she was dealing with it all. She found him easy, and she fell hard. Felt her heart pound as he roamed her mind. It was love, she thought. Because he brands me each time we meet with fists, its love. He reminds me of who I belong to, yes with slaps and words that hurt, he reminds me. And to me its love. Yes she is me.
When she opened the door, the other and holding its handle, she found the real him, love not lust and it was time to move on. Time to live through writing.
Philippians 4:13 I can do all things through him that strengthens me
This verse gives me courage to hold on because I know God is there to give me the strength to pull through. I may not know what he has in store for me or you but I know its something greater than you think.
God allows us to live in this world to learn and experience life and he is there as our pillar. Re-read it and make it your stepping stone. I have. So, live, pray and love.
Have an inspiring day!
Waist hand inked with melodies
Of the songs she heard from her childhood
Of songs sang when the words in them, she never really understood
But she sang them still
danced to them as they played
she needed assurance to keep them with her
never fading, never leaving, never dying
Have an inspiring day!