And when you were making these decisions
Did you hear the voice saying it was
Wrong? She asked, dressed in some gorgeous
Combination of wisdom and neutral
Lip gloss. The voice! The voice that
Whispered to wait a little bit longer.
The voice that whispered that it wasn’t time,
That that wasn’t home, that that wasn’t where
My heart was ready to reside. The voice with
Soft-tones and a deep feminine whisper —
The type our ears have been trained to
Ignore over the millennia and
Though I knew I had heard her, I
Didn’t listen like all children do with
All good mothers who say the things that
Don’t want to be said, like sandpaper words
Off of wooden tongues. The voice that
Waited. That still waits. That listens as
Thoughts bulldoze through time and demand
Production. The output of my sorrow.
The output of a soul that needs time to
Heal. The output of time that cannot
Be measured. The voice, like a mountain,
She still sits and waits in a whisper that will
Be heard over time like the wind
Rustling through mountains, repeating herself
Over and over and over. Patience
Like a river whispering through the
Canyon it has created through sheer persistence
In the knowledge of being right.
Yes, I’ve heard that voice, but I haven’t

Author: Erica V.

Always seriously joking and rambunctiously soft-spoken.

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