Standing by – waiting for a cue.
A clue or suggestion to give me permission to move.
Stuck – holding on to chains and locks.
Holding them up so they don’t spoil my clothes.
Keeping up appearances while in bondage.
Locked inside a perception I can’t give up.
And the truth just stands there.
The perfect, glowing truth, almost floating in her lightness, because she holds no chains – no locks.
She has only one thing in her outstretched hand.
Holding it out towards me if I choose to take it.
But the truth doesn’t move so we just stand.
Staring at each other.
Me with my chains.
Her with her lightness.
Both knowing that I’ll have to be the pursuer.