It is nearly unbelievable at which the speed of my despair can wash over and through me.

Receding, then breaking anew and pounding me on the rocky shore.

The surf has been fast these past few days.
Long, rolling peals of thunder through the winter sky - the absurdity of my life.

Each morning I am given a choice.
To choose where I want to be in relation to life.
One step towards or one step way.

I worry that I will have to retrace too many steps.
That there is not enough time to cover the ground I've lost in order to arrive at the point where I can begin to progress.

I can see it up ahead.
The warm light, the whorl of a newborn's hair.
I catch the scent.
I can almost imagine the feel.
Silky powder on lotion slicked skin.
The rise and fall of each breath under my hand.
Warm flesh against my own.

Almost.

Looking behind me I see the pain.
The disappointed looks.
The sadness in his voice ringing through a warm December night.
The hollow sound of hope asking each month if the light has been born into me.

No.

Not yet - I whisper while being turned to survey the wreckage i am dragging through my cluttered path.

I want to go.

To start re-drawing that line back to the beginning.
The point where I can begin to trust my instincts again and never doubt that my voice is being heard.

I can barely imagine, hardly recall the way.

I will have to trust that the journey will take me there.

I need to begin believing.