The feeling of longing for what once was has crept into my heart.
The past is something once lived but can never be reached again except through cracked memories.
To only be able to touch those who can no longer be touched.
To run with the steady legs of a child in pursuit of a dream.
To hear the whispers shared between kindred hearts, locked deep in the vault of friendship, left to collect dust.
To escape into imaginations that created kingdoms and new world.
To be accepted because you were you and nothing else mattered.
To listen for a moment to families gathered around wooden tables laughing as the background music of night played.
To pier in on the crackled conversations between women in aprons and men with adventurous hearts.
To hear the rain playing melodies on the tin roof of a little red house.
To see the monkeys tease and play among yellow trees.
To feel the love of fellow sojourners living life together out in the bush.
This is the past I can no longer touch for it has become distant like a dream. Yet somehow it can be relived through the spark of a created thought.
I thought I would share a section of my journal with you all this morning. I have moments of longing for a season of life that has shaped the rest of my life. The things I have mentioned above are the images that played over in my mind last night as I my heart longed for the past. Maybe these images will take you back to the past that you miss, or maybe they are just empty words strung together to form delicate sentences that you can appreciate. Whatever the case may be, I hope you enjoy!
Angela
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