A Line Between Caution and Freedom

A Line Between Caution and Freedom

You, in cutting ties—
Said that leaving was a mercy.
Ten years shrank: two lone leaves joined together, revolving.
Blown through each season,
parted from their shared journey,
far from home.
Rejoining the world
when I had forgotten what it meant to be alone.

I am free, I tell myself—
or that’s the sentiment I receive
from your parting remark.
I will untether you from me
and return again to being plainly me.
Or maybe the ties that bind,
steeped in time,
are ever deep.
And as some ill-fated lover of mythology,
I’ll roam free—
neither lone, nor lived,
but an amalgam of your ghost,
forever a part of me.

I am free
while sight dims in my eyes—
thief came with little explanation,
lingering with no way
to return what's gone
It’s in the hands of fate or God
how long I will see with clarity.

Somewhere between fear and “fuck it,”
I march through my days.
Grateful for seeing today.
For friends and family who see me whole.
For company that softens this invisible toll.
I can read and write.
I can drive.
I can hike.
On a casual, happy, sunny afternoon,
the sun streaks across my face—
yet I can’t shake the feeling
that I’m flirting with ruin.
May it never come,
the day I wake to the loss of independence.

Somewhere between fear and “fuck it,”
I am free.
My vision fades—
A thief still at work.
And as love’s fool,
your ghost makes a home in my bones.
As love’s fool,
 I ponder senseless questions—
like when this fear pulled the floor out from beneath me,
why you wouldn’t hold me.

Each day I wake
with the gift of sight—
altered, yet intact.
It softens the blow
of a future untold.
Today again, is not that day.
 I lay me down for sleep
with a maniacal laugh.
The absurdity of love severed
in the midst of a critical storm
with potential to worsen
will make blessings of small things. 

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