Post by Moira ap Eiluned on Aug 13, 2013 1:03:44 GMT -8
She’d wondered if she would ever really feel anything again. The cold empty place left in her heart when Hans was taken away seemed a sterile void; too briefly filled with the seed of Zirnitra, she had traded that away for King Saros’ life, again leaving her empty and numb. It was, after all, no less than she deserved.
She’d accepted that thin blade of Winter in her heart, that place left behind with the death of love. Accepted it as the fair price for the joy it had brought for the time she had had it, and had let her heart lie fallow. Poor Ricky, trying to talk sense to a broken heart; he’d been right, of course, and she knew that with her head; ceasing to love was no answer, but there simply was nothing in her to give to others and all the knowing in the world could not change that plain truth.
But now, here, today, small seeds cracked in the barren field, and two thin sprouts, tenuous and frail, were trying to take root in her salted earth. She felt them, and knew that they would never survive to grow or flourish within her. But for just a little while she could pretend that these fragile seeds of love might root and bloom into something more, something enduring; if not the great garden that she shared with Hans, then a small and modest planting-bed that brings a close and homely joy. But she knew the seeds could not survive; both of them were rooted in chancy ground, ringed round with stones of circumstance and situation. Allowed to grow, they would harvest only sorrow.
Yet for just a little while she would permit herself to feel the germs of love within herself and enjoy their gentle warmth. Their loss, and the pain of it, was not to be avoided, but the hope brought on by these two had set root a deeper seed…the growing chance that someday she would be able to love again.
She held their names close inside her heart, and was surprised to find contentment therein.
She’d accepted that thin blade of Winter in her heart, that place left behind with the death of love. Accepted it as the fair price for the joy it had brought for the time she had had it, and had let her heart lie fallow. Poor Ricky, trying to talk sense to a broken heart; he’d been right, of course, and she knew that with her head; ceasing to love was no answer, but there simply was nothing in her to give to others and all the knowing in the world could not change that plain truth.
But now, here, today, small seeds cracked in the barren field, and two thin sprouts, tenuous and frail, were trying to take root in her salted earth. She felt them, and knew that they would never survive to grow or flourish within her. But for just a little while she could pretend that these fragile seeds of love might root and bloom into something more, something enduring; if not the great garden that she shared with Hans, then a small and modest planting-bed that brings a close and homely joy. But she knew the seeds could not survive; both of them were rooted in chancy ground, ringed round with stones of circumstance and situation. Allowed to grow, they would harvest only sorrow.
Yet for just a little while she would permit herself to feel the germs of love within herself and enjoy their gentle warmth. Their loss, and the pain of it, was not to be avoided, but the hope brought on by these two had set root a deeper seed…the growing chance that someday she would be able to love again.
She held their names close inside her heart, and was surprised to find contentment therein.