Reached (Matched, #3)

by Ally Condie

I’ve burned words and buried them, I thought, but I haven’t tried the water yet.

Where did you go when you were still?

Writing, painting, singing—it cannot stop everything. Cannot halt death in its tracks. But perhaps it can make the pause between death’s footsteps sound and look and feel beautiful, can make the space of waiting a place where you can linger without as much fear. For we are all walking each other to our deaths, and the journey there between footsteps makes up our lives.

We hold the choices of our fathers and mothers in our hands and when we cling on or let them slip between our fingers, those choices become our own.

There is ebb and flow. Leaving and coming. Flight and fall. Sing and silent. Reaching and reached.