DurAnorak (duranorak) wrote,

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Yes, I know. Sorry.

It all seems such a long time ago; it was. Spring always tastes the same in the same place, though, and recently - despite the cold - I have felt the soft light and flowering air of March beginning to rise around me. I was quietly joyful that this year I might look at it with tearless eyes.
No secret garden, this, shut with the entrance covered and waiting for someone to rip off the ivy and break open the door. I never wanted to do that; preserving an ideal that never was would get me nowhere. So I waited until I could look at the flowers without crying, until I could see the beauty of the roses and vines, until the paths and benches no longer bore any trace of my presence. And then I gently shut the gate and walked away.

And I have never once walked back. So how am I now standing at the gate, wondering at the weeds that choke the roses?


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