Since I was a seedling, I knew.
I knew, I wanted to meet the essence that drew me out of the dark—that birthed to me both light and life.
At first, I grew sprightly to a hopeful tempo.
Then, I realized closer was not happening even after lengths upon lengths were applied; efforts were turning hardscrabble as reality affirmed that we would never babble.
Inner dialogue to itself quaered whether or not retreat was happening upon approach—much like how a prom’s dance twixt geek and queen proceeds.
Dreams ran requels as possible solution’s to waking’s weariness, but neither trunk’s race nor palm’s waves had any drive remaining in the task.
Since then, felt failure has faded.
Now, with welcomed acceptance, distance indeed turns the heart’s fronds towards the fonds, allowing desires to ever settle into evening’s hopeful sweven-scenes. ; )