Ice & Fire
Rachel Chanthavisay
Yearning is such an ice-cold beauty.
She steals into the far reaches of your heart and envelopes everything that you are. She becomes as unforgiving as gravity, constantly pulling at your soul. The entirety of your person is being torn away from the very bones that hold you still.
But she is such a beautiful agony. A pain that lays proof that we are full of what it is to be alive. A passion to see wonders, hope that can overcome all, dreams that are yet unfulfilled, the loss of a beloved, and a cure for the ache inside your breast. Often we feel her awful cold in our chest and cannot comprehend what we yearn for.
We know she is there. We can feel the soft, stealthy fingers of ice reaching gently in and staggering our breath. We feel the dreaded pull of violent longing.
Oh God, such a longing in my heart! Worsened still by my own fears. What if I am pulled apart? What if this ache should never cease? Do I still live, breathe, eat, and die with this awful hand clutched 'round my soul?
I yearn for the sunrise, the ocean, the wind, the earth, the mountains, the forest, and the river. I yearn for a lover, for children, and a home. I yearn to walk into the lives of people who need me. I yearn to be present, alive, and kind. I yearn to be noble and worthy, satiating my heart by loving the unloved.
To yearn is not to wish, to plead, or even to feel. It is not baseless, or without purpose. It is the bridge that traverses the distance between our souls and what is worth living for. When my body is old, my destiny behind me, and my sorrows faded, I can only pray that this endless yearning will cease to break my heart and instead point me home. Home, beyond where yearning and aching dwell.
Yearning is such an ice-cold beauty, and I long for her with all the fire in my soul.
She steals into the far reaches of your heart and envelopes everything that you are. She becomes as unforgiving as gravity, constantly pulling at your soul. The entirety of your person is being torn away from the very bones that hold you still.
But she is such a beautiful agony. A pain that lays proof that we are full of what it is to be alive. A passion to see wonders, hope that can overcome all, dreams that are yet unfulfilled, the loss of a beloved, and a cure for the ache inside your breast. Often we feel her awful cold in our chest and cannot comprehend what we yearn for.
We know she is there. We can feel the soft, stealthy fingers of ice reaching gently in and staggering our breath. We feel the dreaded pull of violent longing.
Oh God, such a longing in my heart! Worsened still by my own fears. What if I am pulled apart? What if this ache should never cease? Do I still live, breathe, eat, and die with this awful hand clutched 'round my soul?
I yearn for the sunrise, the ocean, the wind, the earth, the mountains, the forest, and the river. I yearn for a lover, for children, and a home. I yearn to walk into the lives of people who need me. I yearn to be present, alive, and kind. I yearn to be noble and worthy, satiating my heart by loving the unloved.
To yearn is not to wish, to plead, or even to feel. It is not baseless, or without purpose. It is the bridge that traverses the distance between our souls and what is worth living for. When my body is old, my destiny behind me, and my sorrows faded, I can only pray that this endless yearning will cease to break my heart and instead point me home. Home, beyond where yearning and aching dwell.
Yearning is such an ice-cold beauty, and I long for her with all the fire in my soul.