Mist

photo courtesy of http://tripswithtots.files.wordpress.com/2012/06/d-walking-into-the-mist.jpg

I am but a mist. I look behind me and find no shadow cast. I am but a little girl wading through a veiled path. Although cautiously I take my steps one at a time, I could never help but stumble on these wobbly feet on a too loose shoe on one foot and a too tight shoe on the other; not even wincing could soothe the throbbing toes poking through the leather that had worn itself out.

Kissing the rain, I remember your usual soft caresses on my face. Tripping over the large rocks that had blanketed themselves with the mist, I remember how you used to pick me up and say, "It hurts? Hush now. Come, I can, and shall heal you." I look around and find no one. I cry out but hear no one.

I am but a mist. I am now one with those around me. Squinting, feeling for the dead end, I choke back a sob. I moan in grief but all I hear are echoes that mock me.


I am but a mist. If hope is meant for those who have none left, then hope might be consumed before I could even feel it. But I hear a whisper, and I feel a hand over mine. And before I could even dry the tears that had stubbornly trickled down to my chin, I feel strong arms lift me up the rocky trail that has wounded my feet. I feel warmth envelope me through that chest where I hear the most comforting heartbeat. I embrace him back before looking around.

Then I no longer am a mist. I look back and there, I see, is a shadow cast.

I no longer am a mist...and would never go back to being one.