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<b> An old woman sits in her rocking chair, creaking <b> back and forth beside the fire. She gazes down <b> at her granddaughter, as she sits beside her on <b> the fur rug. You are young... so beautiful as you prepare for your wedding night. But I can see in your eyes, this is not your dream. Are you marrying for duty? For friendship? Or for yourself? I was strong. Strong in my convictions, of right and wrong. Strong in my will to pursue those convictions. Locked in a cage of my own creation, bound by walls I had built myself. In other words, I was married. For 15 years I had stood strong in this vow, and I was determined to continue for another 30. But then something happened. Some stubborn fellow with determination of his own, made it his business to become my friend. Oh, it started out simply enough, just two like-minded people agreeing on this or that topic. But before long we were aiding each other in other ways, counseling each other through hardships and worries... He was truly a good friend. I kept him at arms length, for fear that he would become attached to me... when in fact it was myself becoming attached while I wasn't looking. Does that make sense? Ah well, I'm an old woman, it's not always easy to make sense anymore. Anyway, life progressed, as it tends to do, and with it our friendship, within it's boundaries set by the two of us and our circumstances... such as they were - I, a married woman with a family, and he a young man. Far too young, many would say. Until one day something happened. An argument. A quick hot flare of anger. This was my chance, my chance to get away and save my marriage. This was my chance to let go of this friendship which I knew was risky. Everything in me screamed that I should walk away now. And also, my pride screamed at me to let him walk away. How dare he become angry, or accusatory? Who did he think he was? Did he think I cared? Let him leave then, and I would be better off. Ah, but that is not what I did... <b> The old woman sighs in memory, rocking <b> back and forth. I reached out... in an insane moment of foolhardiness, I reached out and grabbed at his robes. "Wait." I begged... I let go of all my pride, all my justifiable anger, all my rage. I forgot about my convictions, my vows, my self-made cage. I reached out and touched him. I whispered in his ear. I fought to keep this friendship. I fought harder than I have ever fought for anything. It was a quiet battle. Most of the it was within my own mind, arguing with myself. But I chose to fight. That decision was the end of my life as I knew it... nothing would be the same from that point onward. That decision to stand and fight, when everything in me screamed to walk away, was the key... The key to unlocking my world. When your mother was a little girl, she wrote a poem for me. I have saved it all this time, as it means more to me than she could have realized when she wrote it. Listen, and I will tell you... <b> She takes on a faraway expression, and recites: "Love is a cage, and love is the key. Love locked me up, and love set me free." Be careful, child... be sure you are reaching for the key, and not the cage. <b> She smiles lovingly at the old man sitting in <b> the rocker beside her, and nods off to sleep. <b> the young girl takes a second look at this old <b> man, and realizes... he is much younger than her <b> grandmother... .: Tangles | |