After a while you learn the subtle difference
Between holding a hand and chaining a soul,
And you learn that love doesn’t mean leaning
And company doesn’t mean security,
And you begin to learn that kisses aren’t contracts
And presents aren’t promises,
And you begin to accept your defeats
With your head up and your eyes open
With the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child,
And you learn to build all your roads on today,
Because tomorrow’s ground is too uncertain for plans,
And futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.
After a while you learn
That even sunshine burns if you get too much.
So you plant your own garden and decorate your own soul,
Instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.
And you learn that you really can endure…
That you really are strong,
And you really do have worth.
And you learn and learn…
With every goodbye you learn.
The way her shoulders sag as she gives herself over to the sadness she’s feeling brings me actual heartache. The animation conveys her emotions so perfectly it’s almost unfair to the audience. How is it that art in motion can so perfectly capture the essence of grief?
I. We are soft whispered wishes.
Silent winter mornings mourning dead leaves and forgotten flowers.
Beauty buried under snow, or ashes.
The city still burns.
But she tastes of clouds and summer gardens.
Her words turn stones to heart,
and we keep beating harder.
The sun still rises dead on time.
There are good things around us every day.
Something about the heaviness of sky,
II. When pain plants itself in your chest.
When a garden of grief and lonely grows in your gut.
When we’re holding shaking hands, and whispering words from trembling lips.
Through the dark.
Through the silence.
Through the counting of the ribs,
that battered cage that barely contains the beating.
Pounding out a rhythm,
counting the steps down to the ground.
We dare ourselves to drown,
and drink until we disappear.
Forgive this tiny ghost,
the way it glows.
This memory of simple bones, arranged into a fragile frame.
And so I fade away.
III. The sky is full of
clouds and grey doves.
A rainstorm is coming,
but don’t let it wash away the love.
You don’t need to cleanse your soul,
you are beautiful dirty,
just the way you are.
There is lightning in the space between our bones,
blood lingering on our lips,
and sweet honey stains on our hands.
We leave sticky fingerprints on each other’s skin,
to remind us of all those good things.
IV. The sky is filled with the smiling face of God,
and pictures of things that have passed.
Sometimes part of you has to die for the rest of you to live.
It’s called sacrifice.
Give it up.
Let it go.
giraffevader - About sadness, bad days, and the healing power of love