I keep track of all the days in between; the ones when you don’t say you love me. And during those days, my heart beats a little less enthusiastically, the sighs are a little longer, and my shoulders slump a little more. Sometimes the longing and the aching can be almost unbearable. But then I think back to all the times when those three little words were never spoken at all; all those years filled with such a lonely longing in my chest. I know I will never be in that place again because you always remind me of that with your steadfast presence every day. And when that realization hits me, that you’re not leaving me, I’m finally able to stop myself from falling, cradling my mind, and finding comfort in my own embrace. It’s in that nurtured state that I somehow find a way to let go of the demons which harbor my weary discontent. And eventually, that nagging feeling starts to evaporate, disintegrating bit by bit in every relaxing exhale, calming a little more in every deep breath. I’m never quite the same, though, as my own strength can never carry me all the way through. And so I wait patiently until you’re here again, reminding me that love is more than words. But because you know I need to hear it, you expose your stubborn soul to me, finally giving in to my neediness. And that’s when my heart explodes in reassured joy because your loving words mean everything to me. And even though I already know you love me, the reminder frees my soul and refuels my spirit.
Turn this page over See what’s behind In-between the creases I cannot hide You’ll see my reality The truth that I face The depth of my desires I dare not taste Each sweeter than honey These visions I explore Yet locked in silence Behind forbidden’s door
I think it kinda looks like your heart The branches being the fruits of your labor Such a long time it has been But they’re finally budding The roots are of all the things you have touched So many lives have felt them The black and white colors you wish were full of pinks Yet you know that can never be so Four seasons of seven branches 14 black 14 gray The longer black branches of the past Many memories of your childhood Many darker memories Gray The fruits of your labor Finally budding Some being in the works longer than the other Soon you will see the fruits Buds like hands Reaching out Reaching out into the world Though darker thoughts tend to over shadow them Just give them plenty of light They’ll bloom in time Two black Two grays Long blackened winter Short gray spring On the right lies fall and summer The trunk to connect it all Both dreams, hearts So many thoughts Yet why must such a heart be gray and black? Grown and weary It’s hard to see the rainbow of your childlike self It’s still there though It’s always been there Trying so hard to see color Eyes full of black and gray nights You stare at those by your side God And another one Close to your heart Is it Daddy? Or is it something even deeper Deep in the depths of your mind A lost thought? Someone always there by the tree Holy spirit? Jesus? Ocean waves Staring back at quiet waters I see you now You’re the one named “Longing”
By Brianna Lynn Cook (Written June 6, 2017)
I once had a dream and in that dream there was a tree. The tree in my dream left such an impact on me that I decided to draw what I had seen. This is my daughter’s interpretation of the tree from my dream. Remarkably, her words were spot on and every time I read this, I get goosebumps. My daughter has this amazing gift of seeing what others cannot. And even though this interpretation means nothing to anyone else, it means the world to me that she could see it. Only a young girl with the sweetest disposition and the purest of hearts could have such knowledge. I am blessed to call her my daughter.
Here is my own recollection of the dream…
There was a tree, my favorite tree of all. It was actually a culmination of several different types of trees growing all together. I could still see and appreciate its beauty, even though it was slowly dying. There were numerous buds on the tree. Each tightly shut, preserving what was a potentially beautiful blossom on the inside. Every day, I stared at my tree, longing for it to blossom, waiting for it to bloom. But alas, the more I watched my tree, the more lifeless it became. And as much as I wished those tightly closed buds would bloom, they would not open. They were colorless and gave me a sense that all hope was lost. I became so lost in the sad state of the tree that I could see nothing but grey, even in my own life. The tree seemed to have four parts to it. Representing each season and some of the seasons were longer and some shorter. I wondered if in time, if the withered state of its branches would eventually blossom and bloom separately, or if they would all just remain as unfinished potential. It made me so incredibly sad not to know the future outcome of this amazing tree, one which I had always loved and still do.