The lookout deck is just a hand dealt with distance.
The inevitable win or lose can only come when all the cards have been played.
This deck is not deliverance…
It is where you dine on credit at airport prices.
Its safety is by distance, not by deity.
Because lessons are only learned when we live them.
We know this.
But we tardy this traction with (denial-driven) hope that we won’t need to at all.
Willing… that maybe… somehow… our delaying might deal a different turn of truths that suit our what-ifs more.
My delaying has – just this week – walked into the FLOODBACK.
Yes I (am) have started thinking about you again.
Yes I (wish) feel the days of that fireball dynamo as if they were today’s yesterday.
Yes I (ceiling-stare) wonder the alternate outcomes –– and then buckle at the butterflies born to burst in my belly.
FLOODBACK feeds the powerlessness-pangs that I’d pain privately in the departure lounge of purgatory.
The board’s update is one-word smug: “Delayed”
I can’t certificate survival as successful with this carnival of skeletons I cohabit with.
Procrastinate honouring your heart’s hopes to heal, and hell will surround with scorn that reads “Delayed”.
In theory, we know that every step forward is a step in the right direction.
In practise, we don’t take those steps for a long, long time.
We prefer to triage the punishment… to trump it for what-ifs, while we secretly tap the door we’d professed to close and hope it opens to let us back in.
…that’s not overall strength come from a place of sadness:
That’s sadness lacking strength because it is all over the place.
But don’t turn toward the tempt to frown upon it. That blinding bide is beautiful on its own – as and when it must… and as and when it must… and as and when it must…
To FLOODBACK . . .
Foreign as a feeling when it does.
But with flint in fist, and tinder tiding its time…
…this fluke will conscript a courage lit like a fire from underneath.
© Dylan Balkind
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