Days unfold to the movement of the hands, and the nights are marked by the sound of bells tolling.
We mark the time. And time moves slowly when we’re hurting and yet moves quickly in our joy, and it traces lines on our face to mark its path. The sun rises and sets, and the moon repeats the cycle. Seasons change.
And we change with the seasons, sometimes slowly, sometimes with a shock of new growth. We seek days that pass in joy and nights that unfold with the movement of hands, sighs marking the time. We want to witness the changing of the seasons, but we long for the hand holding ours to stay the same.
Is it asking too much to want to be missed, craved, adored, explored?
We desire the intimate connection, souls meeting and recognizing the other.
Yes, there you are. Yes, I’ve been waiting just for you.
Yes, I see you. I’m seen by you. This.
Why should we be expected to settle for anything less? The casual connection, a revolving door of names and faces, connections missed, chances not taken and always, always, always the disconnect between what they say they want and the truth. And the disconnect between what we need and what’s on offer.
We’re dying of thirst in the ocean, freezing in the desert, starving in an orchard. How do we find what we need in a culture that wants to make us disposable, so easily replaced with another? How do we wait for what we need when we become so broken down that we just want something to ease the loneliness, someone to share our lives? Another person breathing in the night. A hand held tightly in our own (don’t let go). To be seen by another, even if not clearly. Even if ever so briefly.
We dream of more.
We wait in this time between what is gone from us and what we need. And we love ourselves and honor our intuition. We follow our path and make ourselves who we need to be. We create lives filled with joy, adventure and enthusiasm. We are ever-lonely, always longing. But sometimes we feel that darkness, that empty space in the air beside us that longs to be filled with more than this.
We want to be missed, craved, adored, explored. We long for intensity, for true connection.
And we hold on, impatiently waiting. Trying to ignore the surges of sadness when the thought occurs: if I died today, I would have loved someone deeply and yet never have felt what it’s like to be loved in return.
We silence the damaged inner voice that tries to speak of a loneliness without end, that urges us to just settle for someone breathing next to us in the dark rather than a heart that touches ours and holds on.
So we wait.
Days unfold to the movement of the hands, and the nights are marked by the tolling of the bells. And in the nights we dream of more than this. We feel the empty space next to us, filled with ghosts or possibilities or the shadow of what might have been.
Or we fill the nights with the movement of hands, sighs marking time while we wait for what we need. Resisting the need to settle for what will never bring us joy, we seek something stronger, the genuine connection of souls meeting.
We hold on here, in the time between.
Author: Crystal Jackson
Apprentice Editor: Kathy Baum; Editor: Renée Picard