The Angel

Imagine slowly losing the ability to feel. To feel warmth, the sun, physical contact...everything. Slowly numbing, day by day, over a period of years. Retreating within, building walls, making atempts to regain my senses. The harder I try, the more it slipped away. I cry out, but my cries no longer reach past the walls I retreated behind.
One day, in the process of turning away from the source of pain, someone reaches over the walls, past the cries, through years of pain to show the way out. Suddenly, the numbness is gone. I see clearly for the first time in years. Feelings flooded back that were felt again...for the very first time. The happiness and joy, to see after being blind, to hear after being mute, to taste freedom after years in prison.
But...the angel that reached over the walls, the healing touch misread, taken for more, so much more, than it really was. As priceless as that release was, it is ripped away in a flash. The shame of misreading affection. The bitter-sweetness of healing the hard way. The future I had hoped for was changed.
I refuse to rebuild the walls. I have felt again and I will continue to look for chances to feel again. The healing that occured will not be for not. I will step forward, not back. The angel is still there, a part of everyday life. Precious and valued, bitter-sweet. The cries from within are gone, but new cries are heard. Cries for what could have been, what might be, that the one that brought healing becomes the one. The one to dote on, put on a pedistal, treat like a princess, respect, admire, edify...complete. Time heals, one way or another, the cries within.