I've been listening to the Civil Wars a lot recently. I love the song 20 Years.

There's a note underneath the front door that I wrote twenty years ago

Yellow paper and a faded picture

And a secret in an envelope

There's no reasons

No excuses

There's no secondhand alibis

Just some black ink on some blue lines and a shadow you won't recognize

And if it means I'll be waiting for twenty years and twenty more

I'll be praying for redemption and your note underneath my door

And your note underneath my door

I always relate this song back to one person, the person in my life who I always seem to be waiting for. "I'll be praying for redemption..." Maybe it's not that difficult to do, to just wait, and expect more. Maybe one day, I will find a note underneath my door too.

I wrote another letter yesterday, and filled it with words and emotions that I thought were long gone. It was amazing to see how much a would say, given the chance to finally speak. For years now I have neglected and ignored those wounds, hoping that indeed time would heal all. Unfortunately, all time does is allow memory to fade, but not wounds. When I examined myself, I found gashes and tears that I couldn't recall obtaining. I think that I had also covered them over with clothing, modest but neat, and so no one bothered to take a closer look. To both myself and my companions, I was okay. Everything ugly was covered, and therefore I assumed it no longer existed. But those wounds were still there, and in my subconscious, I think I always knew. My movements became accustomed to preventing their contact with any other object, and I became like an animal who favors a wounded leg. Though I would never speak of them, those hurts dictated my movements, my life.

Perhaps now it the time for allowing my body to truly heal, not just be covered and neat. Oddly enough, it seems like it took someone coming into my life and showing me that I was still not well, and pulling back my sleeves to reveal my wounds.

So let's rip open those self-procured stitches. Give it a shot, and maybe in the end I will dance again.

Because, as it so evident in everything I think, dancing is my goal.

I think in being free of my wounds, my movements will no longer be so restricted -- and finally, finally, finally, I will dance.