I'm beginning to understand it just a bit. As I bare bits and beginnings of the process, gradually, shyly, it's just enough to get the mind reeling (mine) and the secrets killed.
Yes, it's tangible now. And so the labor pains will lead to grieving.
It's right in front of me but my hands still shake to touch it. Because I'm not one for drama (anymore).
Long ago and far away (or maybe not so long ago and far away) where the ocean meets river, my voice veered but now ventures a whisper, and on a rowboat of mere persistence, I'm paddling back to sea.
The battle between stoic and contemplative is at its peak. For me, there has to be one victorious.
The key opens the door to that which once was.