Autumn curls her toes in the murderous morning's frost and
decay, her leaves embroidered with Jack Frost's needlepoint. I set out
along the path remembering the feel of shale and shell beneath my feet
from that first Summer when we had crunched hand in hand along the sand
but it all seems so distant now. Now as I walk the path I feel the
emptiness by my side, the ice cracking beneath the heal of my boot, the
crust on a creme brûlée. As a child I remember the joy of puddle jumping
on these ice-glass surfaces, the innocent destruction that brought a
sense of power: to crush the sheet to tiny glass-like shards and watch
the splinters spin off across the slippery surface. Now all I see is how
brittle things are, the veneer of our reality so thin, so easily
broken.
It is a while since I have taken this path
through the woods and I do not remember where it leads but I know I must
follow it, put some distance between us and our latest dispute. I find I
can forgive more easily as the miles extend between us and time serves
to bandage my heart. I must lose myself to find myself, talking sternly
all the way. Stand on your own two feet Cinderella. Why was that not
the moral of the fairytale I want to scream? Can I not make a happy
ending of my own? But I had never been taught to believe in myself, to
be enough, and so I was bound by fairytale law to rely on you to bring
my happy ever after. I am a glass slipper girl: I can dance the first
dance and cast my enchantment but I have no staying power without your
desire. What lies between us is ethereal, we both need to believe in it
to make it real. It is hard to recognise magic in the utilitarian, day
after day. But I would be lost without you. If I hobble home to you on
lotus feet will you kiss my toes and mend the rift, make love glitter
between us again? I may have one last dance to share.
The copyright of this post belongs to Holly Khan
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