Evanescent - By Addison Moore
Prologue
In the eyes of God, the truth is living and active, sharper than any double-edged sword, piercing to the division of soul and of spirit, of joints and of marrow, discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart.
The truth lay before us cloaked in the lie of expensive clothing, fine education, dollar bills stacked to the throne of God. The deceivers pulled out all the stops with their sleight of hand, offering a new life, new bonds, forsaking the old, forgetting them entirely. But the metallic scent of blood lingered in the air. The smoke of the past occluded my vision. It burned and stung until I cried out for mercy and found a path of light that offered the clarity and peace only the truth could bring.
True love burns bright in the eye of adversity. It is the heart that nestles the past, cradles and cares for it as if it were a newborn. But wounds drilled craters into those cherished memories. Hurt and pain adulterated all that was once precious and unspoiled. Then a new love came with the power to bind the aching wounds, to stop the bleeding. It healed the heart, the soul, and promised to build a path to the future.
Sometimes you have to say goodbye to the past entirely to ever set foot in the future, but my heart lies in the precarious balance between the old and the new. I walk the tightrope made from adulation and allegiance with no net and no compass, leaving me stranded in the middle without an inkling of which direction to turn.
They say old friends are the best, but life has taught me that sometimes new friends are better. They are the bridge, the safety net I so desire, and it is through them that sanity and reason usher me to the safe haven filled with the answers—the resolutions I long for.
True love. I hold it in my right hand and my left. I cannot breathe without one and cannot survive without the other. In their own way each takes me to those pleasant places, those hazy days of sugared lust and treasured kisses, but in the end only one will remain. I cannot breathe without one or survive without the other. A part of me will surely die.
Just outside the borders of the truth, death waits for me with its open arms, its hasty grin as I lumber toward it like a bird with oiled wings.
I cannot forget the past, I cannot endure the future—either way, it all ends in tragedy.
God is right. The truth is a double-edged sword, discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart. He never said it wouldn’t hurt like hell.
And it does.