When the embers die down, I forget what it feels like to know fire. When the wind blows through an unending chill, I grasp at the memory of warmth on my skin. When the clouds hang low in the hills and linger too long, I grow desperate for daybreak.
And in the moments when the fires are ablaze, I wish to recede from its lashing tongues. When the sky undulates down in ceases bombardment, I long for a soothing breeze. When the rain has strayed to corners more saturated, I yearn for the thunder to roll.
And in the in-between, I seek endlessly for balance between the two. I duel the two moons inside me that pull my tides to and fro. I curse them when the waters are high with the bounties I’ve called for and I denounce them when the shore is dry and that which I craved is gone again.
The duality of people is not a give and take, it is not a push and pull. The duality of people is the continuous explosion of a dying star. Burning hot and bright and then imploding into a dense dark giant. A death and rebirth, of which the byproducts can be lovely and life giving, but always a cycle of intensity and stillness. Never a slow burn. Never an uneventful transition. We are dramatic beings and we live a constant series of dramatic endings.