(A Fiction)
Sometimes his depression was not clinical, but rather, circumstantial.
Sometimes it was the manifestation of a continually frustrated heart—a heart that at some point had believed the fallacy that shrinking and being small so as not to make waves was more important than fostering the spark within.
And so instead of becoming a firey beacon, he had become a smouldering wick.
His energy had dwindled and his eyes had grown dim.
But the moment a fiery one walked into his presence and threw a lit match onto hidden memories and latent dreams, the spark reignited.
He remembered who he was. He remembered what had once burned within.
And the coals in the hearth of his heart began to warm, entangling with the fiery one.
Winds of possibility fanned the flames and unity emboldened ‘what could be’.
The gift once given and once lost, took form again and lifted his heart with fresh illumination, new sight, and a powerfully creative endeavour.
As the firey one left, he realised that he too now walked with the same intensity. The same flame.
Depression had lifted. He was taking up space. What had been in his heart now had the best of chances to take shape around him on the earth.
“Let it be,” he said.
“Let it be.”
(Cover photo by Stefano Guglielmetti)
