The Ribbon.

A long time ago, I believed that I was a ribbon. Two other ribbons held onto me tightly, knotted with love that was both selfish and altruistic… fastened as well with worries, and fears, and care…

The ribbon that was my heart tugged tight, pulling away from the knots that held on, aided by a persistent gale towards the unknown future and the person I might become. It danced and fretted to be free.

The winds of change whispered I should go, and so my ribbon fluttered harder, proud in my confidence that it was right –and it was time– to be free.

Slowly, the knots loosened, and my ribbon danced… carefree, exploratory, ready to try and refine myself, to crystalise into the person I always hoped and dared to be.

Lately, I have noticed that my ribbon has become a bit more sedate if surer in its fluttering, a little less frivolous. And, despite memories both great and terrible, it is taking its place in the long and variegated line of ribbons that lead far, far into the distant heady tops of the family tree, clasping once again the faded bits of fabric it once was eager to be loosened from.

Is it acceptance and acknowledgment? Is it also the hope that I am giving two little ribbons tied blithely to mine a sense of security and connection and a past? A place of anchorage from which to flutter safely from, and when it is time, release and launch weightlessly into the breeze that calls to them? And whenever they wish, a place to land and return to? Whatever the reasons, it is impossible to feel out-of-place with the past when one has found where one is meant to be!

To the two new little, bright little streamers that are now kicking up a merry, mirthful lark on the relentless gusts of the ever-pursuing winds of change… Dance, little ones! Dance, and find yourselves.