The Windowpane
And just when I thought my story was just beginning, how did I get here? Body broken, pain extending, lifted eyes, soul ascending.
Eyes go dark, the pain has ceased, the sun is rising in the East... have I finally found my peace?
With each new eastern sunrise, with each new drop of rain, experience life’s beauty, fogging up the windowpanes.
Look close at the pane, my dear.
Let unspoken words flow freely through tears.
For I have consumed every letter, drank in every word, your pain screaming silently, but I hear every word. I hear it like a fog horn, on a dark and stormy day, for your tears are droplets of ink, staining your parchment face; leaving behind those words you wanted to share with me, when I wasn’t so far away.
Look close at the pane, my dear, for I write all of the I love you’s, I miss you’s and I’m sorry’s, that I never got to say, in hopes that you will see them and know, I’m not so far away.
Tracing with my fingertips on the windowpane, trying to remind you to see the beauty through the pane...
I haven’t forgotten you dear... I’m still here... I still hear...
Closing my eyes in an eternal sleep, please do not cry, do not weep, for you have inherited the best parts of me. I closed my eyes, but I still see, my heart stopped beating, but not entirely... you inherited the best parts of me. My eyes to see the beauty in that foggy pane. Part of my heart, beating strong within you, capable of reaching through time and space, to write the I loves you’s, I miss you’s and I’m sorry’s on those worn out windowpanes.
I live on, believe me, no more pain, no suffering, I’m in the safest place to be, I’m right here, with you, in your heart, right where I want to be.
Theres just one thing left to tell you, one thing left to say; I live on, through you, in your eyes and in your heart, it’s where I will remain.
And don’t forget to remember on those dark and stormy days, I’ll write you little love notes, on those foggy windowpanes.
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Hickey-flower
Hey there, I'm Heather. I am, by no means a "born writer", I have tried for many years off and on to do writings but I always seemed to be around people that tore me down or made me feel like a crappy writer. My confidence has always been extremely low about my writing. Recently, I've been feeling a rumbling in my heart to express myself more through writing, throw caution to the wind and let my heart dance across the page... I was diagnosed with quite a few different conditions, to name a few, my good friend Anxiety, Anxiety decided to bring along her friend Panic Attacks (wasn't to happy about that), I also have a stalker that's been following me around my whole life, his name is PTSD, I also have a friend that sits just out of view but I know she's always there, her name is Dysthymia. My last friend I call Hashi's, thats short for Hashimoto's Thyroiditis, that's where my own body thinks that my Thyroid is an intruder and it does everything in its power to kill my thyroid (talk about an inner conflict). My life is worth living because I am a mom, I fight hard against the things that try to bring me down for him, I write because I know it helps me reduce the anxiety and depression that I struggle with so I can be more present for him, I also write because I know narrative therapy is proven to work and help heal traumas in a non-invasive way. Removing myself from my trauma and putting it into story form helps me process things I've been through, helps me feel compassion and empathy for myself (when usually I am my own worst critic, and extremely negative towards myself). It is a constant battle to try and tune out the negative self talk, and I know many people struggle with this, so I hope whoever reads this will feel a bit more love, kindness, and empathy for themselves. -With outstretched wings, use watchful eyes, Protect the unprotected, love the unloved, and breathe life into the lifeless- Love, Heather
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