Gathering mountains of words in this silence I would speak aloud but my lips do not move. Eyes gazing out into the night, the darkness just as radiant as what I hold inside my chest. My place, the night, with the creatures comfortable in the shadows. I am She, Sheba, and she slowly slinks through dense jungle, eyes fiercely watching, ears back but tuned to the movement of every leaf nearby, paws barely touching the forest floor. The mountains of words to her right and left we pass, I trace her steps waiting for the signal that I can even breathe or fear to disturb the silence. She will roar and finally my lips move with reckless abandon and all words spill onto this thick dense blanket of grass beneath my bare feet, into the space where they fit perfectly. Only when summoned, when the moment is right, do I dare even say a word. Alas, I wait. For her to cry out so that I may weave my story into the ears and into the eyes of the one whom already knows it by heart. But for so much more than that, to the other. Into the night where dreams live I go to find where I once called home, in the silence blinded by the night I roam. Feeling, reaching, fingers gently touching everything I pass. Led by yellowed withered pages of life long written and forgotten. Wandering, in the dark, for what was lost, buried under these mountains of words. Cry out Sheba, roar for me, tell me I can speak. Go before me, I am safe here, to reach the depths into that authenticity remaining within.
… Unafraid, purposeful she speaks, a bravery pulsing through this woman with renewed purpose. Roar if you must. Beat the earth with blistered tired feet, you’ve wandered so far to find what you left behind. Pound your chest, cry out in the agony you’ve led behind your every step, and set it down. Exchange the sadness for understanding at this place of total surrender…
The beauty in the story. The beauty in rewriting it. The beauty in completely letting it go. The beauty in surrender to something you never saw coming. Beautiful black Jaguar, the soul of the silent woman creeping quietly in the night. Wandering, alone, carrying my weight like I was meant to bear it. Fiercely protecting the mountains of words I’ve laid to rest at the grave of yesterday where nobody goes to read anymore. Protect the love yet let the words fade to dust. The mountains crumble, speak, woman. Roar if you must.
… Surrounded by this darkness I am home, yet the light creeps in many hours before the dawn. Something new this way comes, from the old though so much better, renewed, restored, redeemed; Sheba roars, my lips crack open and sound slips out… finally. A word. Just one.
Love. The only word that ever mattered. The only one written on all the withered, fading pages atop the mountains built in the darkness. My place, the night. Until the light returns. I am home here until She guides me to a brand new day where all the shadows from the mountains have passed on like ash into a stream of living water. No more bad dreams, no more sadness. Pure light dwells here in the dawn, and my weary feet will soon find true rest. Nevermore silent these lips once I am told to speak. Nevermore walking in darkness.
To what was, and what is, and what will be. Perfect harmony in all the words she speaks. Familiar dawn comes again and my eyes look up to oncemore feel the warmth of the one bright sun. Soon.

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