See the dew on the sunflower
And a rose that is fading
Roses wither away
Like the sunflower
I yearn to turn my face to the dawn
I am waiting for the day...
All the musicals I've loved in my life, this one, as cliched, as sentimental, as overdone as it is...always circles around again. I know many of the lyrics, I know many of the songs.
And oh, do I feel for Grizabella. Thrown aside by so many, thrown aside when she could no longer be of use, left to fend for herself alone...I know that story. I've lived it.
Not a sound from the pavement
Has the moon lost her memory?
She is smiling alone
In the lamplight
The withered leaves collect at my feet
And the wind begins to moan
But my fate is not hers, at least...not yet. I mend where I can, where I have the chance. I made a celebration of Beltane this year, with a new love profoundly not of my faith. He helped me welcome in the bright new year anyway.
And still flush with the glow of the balefire, I offered flame and forgiveness to a lost love, and I believe to the depths of me that what friendship we have now, traces from that moment.
All alone in the moonlight
I can smile at the old days
I was beautiful then
I remember the time I knew what happiness was
Let the memory live again
Love comes and goes, ebbs and rises, and sometimes, it's offered as an unexpected gift. Unasked for, unsought, it comes, and even the memory of such offering warms me, heals me, keeps me safe.
It's the only counterbalance I have to those places where the damage runs too deep. The scars over my structure, acid dripped from a former honeyed tongue, and knowing I gave him surfeit of it to turn and wound me with...that memory will never fully leave me.
Seems to beat a fatalistic warning
And the streetlamp gutters
And soon it will be morning
But I ask where I can, quiet questions, using my vanishing influence to make sure he's safe, and as well as these days allow him. I speak to him at odd parties, accepting vitriol as my portion for the asking. It's all I have, all I can do.
In the meantime, I'm putting the life back together, slowly, stage by stage, step by step. And, whereas before it largely spoke to "--without him", now, it speaks more to my own heart, less my sense of loss.
I must wait for the sunrise
I must think of a new life
And I mustn't give in
When the dawn comes
Tonight will be a memory too
And a new day will begin
And now this. Brightly burning, fluttering in my hands, play and potential for more. And a binding, so beyond unexpected as to leave me struck dumb by the memory.
I know my responsibilities in this. Breathe not a word to announce, beyond what's in my own heart. This lesson was bought too dearly to be forgot; I will, I must comply. It will be less arduous than it was before; I'm not like to ever forget how the last patch of indiscretion ended.
Burnt out ends of smoky days
The stale cold smell of morning
The streetlamp dies, another night is over
Another day is dawning
But, I keep to the bargain, and I'm offered the honor of his time, the pleasure of his company. And in time, mayhap, the riches of his heart. I can't count these as bad things.
Grizabella's end and mine, they don't have to be linked. And I am far from ending.
It's so easy to leave me
All alone with the memory
Of my days in the sun...
Tonight, I unlinked every prim in the Penzance house. There are flaws in the structure that must be repaired before I make it whole again. But it's already looking better, and ports are in, and the next time I'm on the grid, furnishings should be in place.
I may, I may not, extend the back, we'll see how I feel. But I already feel better about its construction.
Now, if I can just figure out where I put the front doors...
Also, I'm going to be redecorating the store. Mr. Allen has finally thrown up his hands in sheer despair at the color scheme. I have a plan of attack for changing, but it will be problematic to implement. Either way costs time someone doesn't have, or prims we may not want to lose. It's a puzzlement.
In the meantime, new love in the love life. This is, I think, a good thing. Perhaps the pain of loss can only be healed by love's return. I don't know.
What I do know is that holding him, being held by him, felt comforting, safe, and above all, necessary. I refuse to begrudge either of us safety. We've both been through too much, and me, been through it too often.
Sanctuary offered will be sanctuary returned; that at least, I can do with a conscience as clear as summer sky. And the rest will come; in its own season, taking its own time.
As love should. always.
A new day has begun...
(Lyrics "Memory", from Andrew Lloyd Webber's CATS)