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Literature Tyrra's Columns Misses And Hard Kisses
Literature Tyrra's Columns Misses And Hard Kisses
| Misses And Hard Kisses |
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| Written by Tyrra B Meserve |
| Monday, 25 May 2009 00:00 |
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Misses And Hard Kisses Part of being human is seeking to love and to be loved. Little girls grow their hearts in youth by playing family, dreaming of weddings, days to come with babes in arms, testimonies of life. Little boys dream of becoming heroes, of damsels to save from castles at battle atop steeds that ride true and swift. The damsels wait while the heroes spar, each morphing into adulthood, the dreams of childhood ebbing with the tides of time. The details of how we arrived here are unimportant. Each one of us has her own story, yet it is only the names and faces that change. Boy meets girl, hero finds damsel, a path is laid with the plans of two to ride off into the sunset. Sometimes mothers seek heroes in a southbound love. If a haunted look is glimpsed within our eyes it is because of the ghosts of childhood dreams past with which we still ride. We are everywhere, in every town, city, nation and walk of life. We are the ones whose road has washed away in floods of angry words and deeds. We have bled, been left to walk alone, and learned to isolate ourselves from future attacks. We have sacrificed and lost, returned many times to battle, only to find that often the only road to victory is by hiding ourselves away until we can find our path again. Learning to rebuild both ourselves and our worlds, we form a sisterhood whose bonds have been forged by the harshest fires of love gone south. Our statistics are not pretty when seen in black and white. It is unimportant where the blows have landed, what matters is that we have taken the hits at all. Some to the face, some to the heart, the tears we cry echo muffled in the darkened hallways of the compound in which we retreat. Bravery lies in the fact that we have survived at all, and yet a hint of shame seems to still linger in our eyes, our tears, our suitcases that we have packed stealthily in the midst of flight. To judge us by our circumstance is the cruelest fate of all. Though some of us will assuredly be lost on the rocky road we must now travel, returning to the past for fear of our inability to move forward without support, some will survive. These are the sisters whose responsibility it is to remember those left behind. We must serve as the voice of those who cannot be silenced any longer. It is for our babes in arms that we kept our secrets, swallowed our pain, hid our bruises until we could finally flee to an uncertainly better beginning. Remember us! Every sister, brother and babe who has fought and lost, yet still rose to live and love again. Our voices are growing stronger, our will won't be unbound. We took our first steps, unguided and afraid. We stumbled and fell but got up again, if not for ourselves, for the love of a child. One in arms and one that once was, we still rise in numbers that must find a stable place to grow. We still, after all, miss the fact that we kissed, however hard those kisses once were. |
| Last Updated on Thursday, 11 June 2009 10:37 |
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