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fyn gula
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remember back if you will to when the minature train that copello and helin were riding came to a stop, affording copello sights and sounds elemental to the foundation of his being and as result, helin had the old woman write the french word for "recognition" on her belly in henna.
then, when she finished, you may recall with suspicion, how she offered them a piece of shutter from her gingerbread house. it was helin who politely declined, and well, you know what happened to copello...
i suppose most of us have gone his way, made his mistakes, suffered the consequences of wrong choices, tried to find the good in our errors, beat ourselves up over the disappointments we have become when we face the truth of who we really are and perceive accurately it is not who we would want to be...
responsibility is like sand.
when wet, we make impressions upon it with the gravity of our body's weight. that is, we are present. we are there amongst the people we love. we give them our time, our space, our words, our voice, thoughts, art, music, our entire being.
a footprint. a castle formed with the fingers.
incoming tides creep and erase, yet, there is the new day. the fresh slate, the hope of beginning again.
however, when sand is dry, we try to embrace it in our hands and it slips through our fingers and falls down and blows indiscriminately away where we cannot gather it again.
we try to walk on it and it burns the bottoms of our feet. we lay on it and we fall asleep, hidden away from what we know to do, unable to resist the tempting, badgering whisper, "surround yourself with all that is you."
anyway, it was here that helin wished copello was able to resist temptation, to recognize the deception, to understand his commitment to responsibility.
and when he didn't, when he gave in to his own desire turning his back to obligation, she weeped inside. she swallowed bitter tears. she lost precious jewelery in the high grass and no matter how long she would search, she would never find it.
so, she went off with the old man in the weezer t-shirt, to his little writing cottage made from sucanet-coated gumdrops and featherlight cotton candy. but somehow, she was different. changed. part of her innocence was lost. part of her conception of love distorted.
she had to accept. had to go on.
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