Endings are New Beginnings

As of now, I am carrying two beautifully special signatures around with me on my inseparable blue canvas. So it will remain until this afternoon, when my lower arm will finally be exposed to the light of day. It feels as though a metamorphosis is approaching, like a caterpillar anxiously awaiting the breaking of his cocoon. One wonderful part about an injury (there are, in fact, wonderful parts to it), is that progress becomes tangible. Benchmarks are well-defined and quantifiable. Three weeks ago my hand was swollen and immobile; now it is not. Two weeks ago my hand was discolored, blue and greenish-gray; now it is not. Three weeks ago I could not type, could not open a water bottle, could not write; now I can. It is exciting and joyful to watch oneself heal, to witness progress, to enjoy each little step towards recovery. Small achievements become magnified, pieced together slowly to form an overall growth trend. Assessing progress in other aspects of life is so much more challenging. Have we become more patient, more giving, less fearful, less pessimistic? It's more difficult to know precisely, and the time scale is much longer. Scars are less visible but still poignant; success is measurable by an intricate balance of metrics. Regardless of such complex questions, I will be enjoying this afternoon as a fully-functional, uninhibited human being--finally.

The gypsy passion of parting...
Having barely met -- the urge to flee...
Head dropped into my hands,
I am thinking, staring into the night:

No one, perusing our letters,
Had fully understood
How treacherous we are -- that is,
How true to ourselves.

M. Tsvetaeva
sent from my iPhone ;)