Upon Wings of the Dove

by Veela of Erised

Perhaps it cannot be done alone. Our need for touch and understanding must come into play. But, is one ever too far gone? Too far to be pulled back, reborn from the ashes, recovered from the wreckage?

1. Prologue

I'm not J.K. Rowling and neither are you.

Have you ever stood still?  I mean, really still.  So still in fact, it seems the world is moving without you.  Have you ever stared up at the clouds as they float along the horizon?  All moving without you.

Where do they go so willingly?  Those cotton clusters.  Why drift along the horizon?  The horizon, only an imaginary line that recedes as one approaches.

What leaps of faith we all take!  I know I have.  But they have only betrayed me.

It's a funny thing.  Life, that is.  Love, joy, grief, pain.  It's a wonder such weak creatures must endure burdens as these; and yet, prevail.  But it never gets any easier.  The load never lightens; the road rarely straightens and narrows.

But does one ever truly heal?  Can one forget and start anew?  Loss never fills itself in.  One cannot mend a defunct heart.  The sorrow remains, eating away.  Causing the ones you knew to disintegrate.  That life-giving pump won't disperse it.  Contained.  Feeding on the host.  And so it remains dead, void, and cold.  Refusing to heal.

Perhaps it cannot be done alone.  Our need for touch and understanding must come into play.  But, is one ever too far gone?  Too far to be pulled back, reborn from the ashes, recovered from the wreckage?

Are we ever really alone? Is loneliness an opportunity for self-discovery or a slip into depression after the realization of emptiness?  Can one be satisfied with surrounding company who profess to sympathize and comfort?  Is it not vain and mistaken empathy for one to assume they know another's grievances rather than feel? 

Can one moment change destiny?  Is the one regretful mistake what prevents us some pleasant event to come?  Or could it be a blessing with no foresight kept devastation from occurring?  Or do we merely play it out with no hope or promise?

Either way, I wish I'd known.  Hindsight's always 20/20.  I know this.  I'm also aware that it does no good to dream of a premonition for the past.

But is it better to know?  Does one actually feel relieved to know the outcome?  Or, do they wait it out with panic, guilt, and pity?  Is it best to know one's cause of death or time of passing?  When knowledge is gained of one, surely there is a fervent desire to learn the other.

Are we ever content with our lives?  How can it be more fulfilling if we aren't even sure what fulfills us to begin with? 

Will it ever be possible to come to terms with what we are unable to accept?

Can we ever find our way?

I for one know not the answers.

Could it be that, despite the agony, one solitary life would rise up and find solace upon wings of the dove?