Dissolve
Slowly cracking away all the outer layers. She has a hard shell but is that from strength or survival? Maybe the survival has made her strong. But, at her core there is softness, vibrance, warmth. What happens if that outer shell only gets thicker? Does the core become smaller? She presumes not. Maybe just more compact, more constrained, more desperate for an opening to express.
Oh how to dissolve. How to break down what's become so calloused over time. Not completely, no. But enough to access her heart seamlessly. It's all within. She’s felt it before, and in the small quiet moments she still can. The glitter swirles, there is light, there is hope, as she drifts off for the night. Only waking to find the armored frame once more.
As a wave upon a shore, swelling then sinking. From the sand, when the ocean retreats it seems there is more water in one place. Concentrated, thick, deep, dark, powerful, mysterious, guarded. But the beauty is in the high tide. When the waves thin and the clear water returns, so does life. Waist deep in red strings, she can find the shimmering scales swirling around. Unbothered or even welcoming her company. A gentle collective. A peace washes over. Her gaze softens. She does not have to be alert and she certainly is not alone. It's as if the sweet salt melts away what she has been carrying for oh so long. Light and free and feminine, lifted by the ups and grounded by the downs. No longer tortured by the tide.
A small scene from her heart's center. Sometimes oceans, others mountains, and often quiet cozy cuddled evenings fireside. Meanwhile the exterior remains. Resolute, steadfast, never stoic, but still strong. Carrying her through from one day to the next and the next. Navigating the balance between battle and beauty, secretly rooting for the latter.
The Ones Who Didnt Make It
Row 13 was left vacant as the train’s whistle sounded and the cars began to roll back. Two passengers missing from the manifest, the pair was just waking in the 2nd arrondissement. Call it jet lag, call it bliss, call it care free, call it whatever you want. But don't call them late. They didn't make the train. Their absence was intentional. This was the city of love after all and they had received the memo. What's another day in the grand scheme anyway. Today they lived in the moment.
______
The invitation included the main event and tucked behind, an exclusive request to attend the after party. All of the who's who, including their dearest friends, would attend both. They planned to as well. Another fundraiser, though, this cause was actually important to them.
Mingle, dance, drink, dance, drink, donate, dance, drink, party, drink, dance.
This is how it always went and of course it was always delightful! A chance to dress fancy, a new gown for her, dedicated cufflinks for him, and maybe even a velvet bow tie if the vibe was right. This night was different. Maybe it was the sparkle on the grounds from the full moon, maybe it was finally finding a good night's sleep, or maybe there was just some extra magic in the air that increased the magnetic intensity shared by the pair.
They didn't make it to the after party. They weren't too tired. Nor overserved. No. The universe held them together like glue and once the obligation to the foundation was fulfilled, once the last dance faded out, they took flight to a different after party. Their own after party for two where the chemistry continued.
______
It was the opening weekend for the most anticipated film of the summer. Two unlikely individuals, living their own life, mistakenly found each other the year prior. He, a newly minted Director with an opportunity of a lifetime. She, an aspiring creative herself, hungry to learn however and wherever she could. Aso…finding a job was a good thing too she supposed.
The summer spent on set sent sparks flying. A minor (?) distraction perceived by some but the undeniable organic intimacy between expert and apprentice only enhanced each scene. The time had come. Their final product was ready to show the world! Of course they had, with the most critical eye, assessed, iterated, and ensured this final product was as perfect as it could be.
They had seen the film a dozen times before the premier details were ever finalized. They didn't need the pomp and circumstance of opening weekend in Hollywood.
Content in their own little bubble, filled with only each other, a night under the stars sounded far more appetizing than camera flashes and red carpet chaos.
So light as a feather, through In-N-Out, onto the highway, and out of town they went. This premier weekend was their first together not on the job. And a campsite in Joshua Tree encompassed by the beauty and wonder of the galaxy was the reward. Much more, the start of something that would be forever.
What If…
What if she let it all go
What if she put everything into making everyday like the perfect day she dreams about
What if she was unequivocally in tune with her body
What if all the stress just melted away
What if she started to feel again
What if she let herself feel again
What if, instead of stopping at no, another question was asked
What if there was no ego
What if she let her guard down
What if she didn't lean on everyone else to feel loved, would she find love within
What if she did not place any limits on her potential
What if it all worked out
What if everything really was always working out for her
What if instead of noticing the resistance and feeling defeated, she surrendered and moved through it
What if she could find that release, that euphoria of a deep cleansing exhale
What if it lasted forever
What if the goal was play and not perfection
What if she only focused on the controllables and stopped trying to orchestrate what she had no control over after all
What if she woke up everyday inspired by the sunlight peeking through the comforting cloud cover
What if she just let go
What if she didn't worry about the future
What if she loved living in the now
What if her faith grew just a little more everyday
What if she listened just to hear
What if she was rooted in curiosity
What if she wasn’t so damn hard on herself
What if she wasn’t so hard on everyone else
What if she not only believed but truly embodied the truth that God’s plans were better than anything she could configure
What if there was only forgiveness
What if there was only ever unconditional love
What if she stopped questioning if she actually was loved
What if she believed in herself more than her misguided perception of what others saw in her
What if she believed that others really did see the best and not all her flaws
What if she didn't think about what others thought at all
What if she dove blind and head first into her passions
What if money really was no object
What if time really was only a construct
What if she didn't have to search for comfort but comfort came from within
What if she sang out loud anyway
What if she danced around the living room just for fun…every. single. day.
What if laughter and nose crinkles and smile lines came just as natural as blinking or breathing
What if today was a new day
What if she embraced THAT to the fullest
What if she then radiated beauty and joy and hope
What if…
Century Spruce
The cloud cover returns, loneliness lowers its voice. In contrast with a fire years ago, this one burns slow. Mysteriously and infinitely fueled, a flash in the pan? No. She only had to light the fish on fire once in college to learn not to add water. The flame shot up before her eyes, engulfed the ceiling and, by God's grace, only ever left a stain. While there are still high/low fluctuations, that's not where she is today.
Nestled in the corner of a cold Washington cabin in the woods, she looks on. What must be a century old remnant of an alpine spruce provides eternal warmth for her soul. How did these logs come to be? Rings so densely packed, precision and patience are required to truly account for all the years condensed into a simple yet fascinatingly complex cylinder.
On a mountain side, a sprout takes hold in rocky impossible earth. Winter after deadly winter overcomes this sprout but she keeps growing. There is no ‘gentile’ rain on this mountainside, Only biting winds, scorching summers, and resilience. A knowing and understanding that roots will grow deeper, and thus the spruce must spring taller. Slow, painstaking length…for a purpose.
While young lush greens in the valley are surrounded by abundance, rich soil, soft sunshine, bird songs, and immediate growth rewarded with extension - they are weak. A useless tool to keep warm. Dissolving into ashes moments following the task assigned. Meanwhile the strong century spruces overcomes lightning strikes, endless droughts, refusing to cease, and steadfast in expansion. If only a millimeter at a time, each season cements a memory on a new thread thin ring embraced by the ring that came before and with open arms to welcome what will come next.
This strength, and drive, and hardships overcome - this is the beauty generated on the hearth here. Otherworldly elegance and comfort and warmth crackles in the corner casting shadows over her sharp cheekbones. A soft smile emerges… Reflecting on why and how this heat finds her and remains. She is not so different from the spruce. She too is formed tight and deliberate with layers of endurance generated grit. Weathered, patient, and cloaked in gratitude for each storm. She too burns low, slow, in peace, and for a hundred years more.
Here. Now.
The fifth flight in three weeks. While delighted by the sky miles, she is left depleted. Its exhaustion while craving rest. Drive and execution while craving comfort. A lonely blank canvas craving a creative spark. She’s left empty.
In the empty, she turns to the pen. Maybe by some divine intervention the words will return. Imagery will ignite. An adventure buried deep in the corners of her toppled brain will surface….
Maybe in the dead of winter, she boards another plane. A long luxurious 15 hour laydown flight to Nairobi. She can already sense the dry heat and endless sun penetrating her soul. The only rigorous piece of the journey is navigating to the destination. But maybe this time even that is completely flawless.
Yes. In this world, she is floating, weightless, in the clouds, hand in hand, Capturing every instance of the experience. Now what…
It is the surreal sunsets, the lush waves of waist high grass, the animals in tune with the elements. While man has seemingly lost the ability to connect with the spiritual essence all around, maybe she finds it here. Here, where there is still quiet and peace but silence is lost.
Magnetic vibrations from the earth and the ecosystem, and… and… and…
She pulses with the life she is surrounded by. Returning to ancestral roots, she is alive.
Exhaustion is eliminated from vocabulary all together. There is only being. Observing, listening, enjoying, wondering, exploring, -ing….-ing,...-ing
All else in the material world dissolves.There is no need for a watch, no need for electricity, no need to connect, no need for creature comforts. They fall short here. Useless in contrast to all that is available within her. (She probably still needs bug spray but that's besides the point)
Then, what is this life without one to share it with? He laughs alongside her, records every moment, and focuses her attention to the baby elephants in the distance. He is her home away from home. He is her home even at home.
Maybe she's coming back to life a little more now. Maybe the tears and the worry and the “I must be forgetting something” all begin to melt away. But how does she find herself in the magic everyday? How does she make the 9-5 (rather 8-6) an adventure too?
Therein lies the mission: Eliminate the urge to escape.
Pursue the beauty and love and excitement present in every waking moment.
Here. Now.
Ready. Set. Go.
When the Sky Cries
Sometimes tears of joy
Sometimes tears of sorrow
Sometimes from overwhelming love
Sometimes from just overwhelm
From reuniting, from hard goodbyes, bubbly clouds morph together.
They grow tall and strong and proud. Then the wind sets in.
Clouds merge.
They are one now: Powerful, dramatic, dark, stormy, comforting…
Finally, all at once, the sky cries.
The let down of wondrous emotion. Yet its always obvious which one provokes each downpour.
Does the sky feel better afterwards too?
Certainly.
The chirps and cricket songs that follow are evidence. Starting anew.
Still, looking up after the stars wipe away their tears, the clouds remain.
Together. As if in a strong embrace. They’ve let go all they’ve been holding in, and all thats left is to hold on close. Equal sides of a delicate coin.
The coming together before the storm and the holding on after.
Thats why she loves the dreary days perhaps. The union, the intensity, the flashing electricity overhead all mirror her heart.
Furthermore, the sky holds these clouds close after the show. The point of weakness, of light, of fragility, and relief. Still together and building back up. While the song birds invite the sunshine home.
The Sweet Spot
Something big is brewing. She doesn't exactly know what, nor is she particularly interested in knowing. That would spoil the fun. The hope, the joy of anticipation, the dreaming, the curiosity, the imagination…To summarize: The Sweet Spot.
One question, with all the ups and downs that parallel the seemingly unchanged world around her, why has the sweet spot graced her with its presence? Why now? Maybe as simple as a fresh trim and first hint of a tan has brought her here. Maybe getting over one big day at a time of tasks on her plate has shifted momentum. Maybe, maybe maybe.
But oh what if it's so much bigger!
The delight in choosing to believe there's been some cosmic shift in the universe propelling her out of stagnation to a next level of trajectory. That is the most fun reason, she chooses that option to believe. To wake each day with a nonspecific pep in her step, the glitter sprinkled throughout her insides, noticing each piece of beauty that surrounds. Praise be!
Everything indeed is always working out for her.
While tremendous challenges still lie ahead, those mountain tops seem approachable. What greatness is in store. Amplified by small victories too. An accelerating boulder sprinting up a hill as though it was as light as a feather. That's her. Not just an ordinary gray rock. But a bubbling glowing gold globe. Still a force to be reckoned with.
This is the essence she assumes on whatever grand adventure, much less adventures, on their way to scoop her up and fulfill her wildest dreams. The hibernating dreamer has awakened! Everything has already happened. The stars are aligned.
As if all the arrangements have already been made. Lights strung, flowers delicately placed, the shimmering canary gown steamed and seamless, the string orchestra beginning an upbeat melody.
What's left but to waltz into this new world and dance her heart out. That, she does.
Spring Forward
And in the morning, there was anew
Winter melted, spouts hid under dew
Better than Christmas day, life now
Returns. To the trees to the ground, how?
After all this time, cold-dormant-dead
The brightest of blooms, lime green overhead
How magnificent, the various shades
The best part is, she finds more each day
Her heart, it flutters, there’s a smile too
Especially on cloudy days, but even if blue
Feeling light and alive, soaking in the sun
It's only inevitable, the coming days of fun
The darkness at bay, if only a moment
Its enough to hold on to, a gift, atonement
Hold on to, she does, but with a loose grip
For only He knows best, God steers the ship
Springing forward in hope, in love, with grace
Elated this season, in nature’s happy place
Surrounded by growth, vibrance, and hope
She runs and jumps, swinging over life by a rope
For the rush, for the thrill, craving the fire
The one that burns deep, ignited by desire
That passion lives in her, no matter the season
But spring is like New Years with rhyme & reason
Rebirth observed above and below
Shes born again too, fire starts to glow
This time without expectations or plans
This time a soft grip, better yet - open hands
The Other Side
The water here was different. Soft, not pointy. A velvet texture caressing her legs and wrapping around her sunkissed shoulders. Kind water. Playful still but with sneaky drawn out undertones.
She waded out further. Half swimming, half bouncing between pockets of seaweed surrounded rocks. Tunnel visioned on the sole purpose of discovering the backside of the miniature island she’s been eyeing all morning.
She wanted to experience that side of the sea. What do the waves get to thrust up against when they disperse to ocean spray.
Further out she floated. Alternating between fluttering her endless legs on her back and daintily paddling on her front.
The red strings around her waist and bust shifted as the ocean cradled her, rocking her further and further out.
Edging into the beyond, she finally found the other half. Steep, rocky, wonderful. Part of her longed to climb up the cliff only to dive off. There she stayed, in momentary suspension. Trying to find some profound symbolism from this swim about but nothing came to mind. Nothing immediately obvious at least.
Slowly she drifted back towards the shore. Letting the tide do most of the work, she took it upon herself to enjoy the ride. The natural ups and downs. The pockets of cool then warm then cool again. Capturing the clinks of waves by her ears - it was almost a melody of handbells. Tinks and clinks, the ocean sang her home.
Sand retuning to her foundation she slowly wandered back to her resting place under this new spring sun.
Born to Be
It is curious, the clarity that comes 30,000ft up. In the air again, to a different cold place, still cold all the same. Maybe this time she can formulate the feeling. A feeling she experienced, relished, and devoured but one she hasn't quite found a way to express.
First there was the sand sinking between her toes with each step towards the sea. Calves tightening, fighting against the extra resistance between her and the tide. Then, the high wind. Turning her , ever longer, gold strands into a scene at a fair where the vendor magically materializes cotton candy out of thin air. Comical really. This same wind surrounds every square inch of her skin, transporting her to a world all her own. While noise circulates all around, children playing, couples cooing hand in hand, friends giggling, gossiping and capturing the scene. In her world it all fades away. Silence, serenity. Finally she finds the moment where land meets emerald expanse. What a delight to share the same world as an infinite variety of beings who never breathe air.
Crisp chills run up her spine. Wading to waist deep, she dances around while contemplating the risk versus reward of getting her hair wet. Before she can complete that internal debate, the choice is made for her as a wave washes over. Into the deep she goes.
Instants of piercing frozen needles all over. It is the beach in February after all. Though with the same speed the frigid discomfort found her, it dissipates, then fades away entirely.
Here comes the hard part. How to capture the essence of being tossed about. Utterly out of control. Surrendering to each topple as waves suction her entirety towards the horizon, flip her, manipulate each limb, then land her back up right. The glorious sensation of letting go - not being in control - and still landing on pointed toes all the same, with a smile. Catching her breath for just one heartbeat, she wipes away salt stained tears of joy and releases back into what the next swell has in store. Micro moments of the ocean carrying her, not so delicately, on a new adventure with each crest. A full body experience, nearly impossible to replicate anywhere else.
But why does she brace for each impact knowing seconds later that letting go is where she can access that salty sweet spot? Again and again the cycle repeats. Tightening her frame less and less with each following surge, until the tides turn. The shift from mustering the strength only to let go, to diving head first into the next burst. Bellowing ocean body welcomes her home. The compression and safety below the surface contrasts with the wild ride the wave queues up. There is beauty here.
Resurfacing for an audible gasp of air, accompanied by a cheery excited squeal of a laugh, then back under. The motion, so sporadic, cannot be reproduced and hardly articulated as she's taken to another realm entirely. Alive here. Bobbing in the ups and downs in this weightless utopia. Bliss.
Questioning if any of this truly translates, she writes on. Dreaming of this. A feeling she knows so intimately, craves, and can nearly teleport to by memory.
In the water she was born to be.
Where To
She rolled over to an empty bed. He woke up earlier than her which never happens. The first thought that crossed her mind: “oh no I’m late”. She wasn’t. He was just early. Why? There wasn’t a meeting. At least not one he had mentioned, which felt unlikely considering they could hardly keep birthday presents hidden from each other much less any other detail. What time was it anyway? The clock ticked to 445 as her phone started to buzz. The dreaded alarm. No snooze this time, already wide awake trying to orient on what the hell was going on. Out of bed, lights on, find the gym clothes strategically set out the night before. Make the bed. Or at least try, considering the circle of green eyed floof who had found the warm spot she previously occupied. Thank goodness it’s Friday she groaned, confused as to why the loveliest whiff of freshly brewed coffee filled the air.
Tugging up the covers and calling it good enough, she made her way to the master bath. Motion triggered lights flickered on revealing a shadowed sticky note on the mirror. “Ugh I really need glasses”.
More lights. Nose inches from the yellow square, she dissected:
‘Passport, warm, be ready by 10’.
What. Remembering the oddity of not being the first awake, she all but ran into a spotless kitchen. “This wasn’t clean last night”. There he was, pouring her coffee with a sneaky grin. “Go to the gym so you can get back and pack”.
WHERE ARE WE GOING! For how long? Why were there fresh flowers on the table if they were about to leave the country? Did work know? Did it even matter?
Butterflies rushed her middle. She stopped asking questions and started flying with them, surrendering to the surprise. This was going to be the fastest Peloton run to date. Although, the joke was on her - 45 minutes is still 45 minutes no matter how fast she ran. Even the cold tub couldnt sober the excitement that swelled within.
It was a particularly gloomy Friday which made the prospect of going somewhere ‘warm’ and with a ‘passport’ even more grand, as if that was even possible at this point. Speeding home, nothing new, rounding the corner, sprinting up the stairs, it was time to cull through the closet. Wait, a shower would probably be a good idea first. This morning she had some company to share the piping hot water with.
Clue by clue, he gave her only the absolute necessary bits of detail to help her pack. 8:30 disappeared into 9:30. She wasn’t going to be late, not today.
Plop, as she bounced down on top of the carry-on to zip up. A typical activity, as she always seemed to over pack and hardly trusted checked luggage to arrive at her same destination. Hand in hand they bopped out the door to a desperately needed mystery vacay.
Sans Snooze
In the between of counts to 100 and letting go into dreamland, there is suspension. A floating of sorts while her mind still reels. Body, weightless.The different parts of her slowly morphing back into one for the night. Thoughts entangled. Dreams curated by her subconscious, folded in with manufactured desires, surrounded by an ever present - sometimes louder than others - underlying nervousness, insecure sense of self.
A tension exists. The deep need for rest and blank space versus the fear of letting go and giving in to Mr. Sandman. Inner control freak resurfacing once again. But here, for an arguably good reason. Protecting the rest of her from nightmares.
She doesn't want to fight. She doesn't want to run. She doesn't want to scream only to hear silence upon attempt. The exhaustion from trying to run, with numb legs, away from the dark armed figure who has trespassed once again. She just wants to sleep.
To go to the happy place instead. What would that feel like? A distant memory, a vague familiarity. Like a lost sneeze - grasping for that satisfaction that has escaped. She knows where to go. Sun on her skin, enveloping her fully. Peaceful silence with only a whir of crashing waves. This is where it's safe. It's the how to get there that is still scrambled.
Micro Magic
Realizing in the middle of the night, there are hours more to sleep
When numb overcomes cold in a 43 degree tub
Crossing a finish line (of any sort)
Bettering a personal best
The bake of a summer sun just before perspiration
Anticipating the victory of accomplishment in completing a final step
Pulling cookies out of the oven
Admiring an eloquent table scape before the first bite, while the wine is poured
When a shower meets sun kissed skin
Remembering a whimsical dream
Coming home to puppy love
A heat wave from a bond fire in winter
Finding the first star at dusk
Any reason that provokes a complete sigh of relief
When a smile morphs into a giggle
A crisp baby leaf on a seemingly dead plant
Skin contact with fresh clean sheets
A warm hug from behind
Again
Click click click click click
click click click click click click clickclickclickclickclick
Summit
The pause, the suspense, the anticipation….
Then, for a moment, on top of the world.
360 greens. Exquisite.
Woooosh
Pressed against the seat
Falling and flying
The thrill, the rush, the ecstasy.
All secure, amplifying the intensity.
Zoom out.
Further.
This is her heart.
In just one breath, a roller coaster ride.
Out of nowhere, then fully immersed.
Uncontrollable, Always welcome.
High off sensation, maybe even addicted
To the hint of danger in the reality of safety.
Rolling to a pause.
Pulse finds a calm.
Rosy cheeks, warm all over.
Audible exhale.
Again.
Bright Night
Quiet the cravings
Settle the dust
Run from nothing
Not in a rut
The old her’s expired
The new on the way
Practice & patience
A deep breath today
Not all at once
What fun is that
Both pain & play
Brew in this habitat
Growth headed towards
Her, wait and see
Sweet surprises
For little she
Little in size
Grand, her spirit
Universe whispers
“There is no limit”
Above & beyond
Wishes come true
Elbow grease & luck
Even though sky’s blue
So there she rests!
Satisfied soul, peace
Abundance abounds
All tensions release
Confidant & true
Allow nothing less
Faithful & loved
A gift, how blessed
Worthy of mercy
No one really is
But He gives freely
Exhibit A: This
She forgets nothing
Not one memory
Comes home to the heart
Sacred treasury
Bubbly big cheeks
Her favorite part
Energy exchange
Together | Apart
There’s something about
Happy heart’s center
Levity, she flies
Prepped for adventure
No expectations
What will be will be
Confidence in plan
Certain jubilee
Till grays & wrinkles
Never she’ll stop
Then even then
Gratitude backdrop
Passion deep passion
Color bright her core
Inspired for now
Dreams forever soar
Breathwork
Inhale: Confidence
God’s armor like chainmail around her heart
Hold: Peace
The knowing that with this armor she doesn't have to worry, she just has to wear it proud
Exhale: Surrender
Letting thoughts come and go and saying grounded in love, in what is true, in what is right
Brownstone
4am rumbles slowly rolled into 6am lightning. Still dark outside, the sounds and flashes brought a strange sense of comfort. Though, not strange to her. She found this weather utterly divine. For a brief moment she shifted into consciousness. A soft up-turn of the lips emerged knowing a dreary day was in store. Rolling back over to her other side and pulling the lush comforter with her, she slipped back into a snooze. While the New York hustle and bustle was already underway, she was tucked in tight with the sweetest company. She gave herself the grace to sleep in while still recovering from her premier exhibit the night before. A purposefully cleared calendar meant she could stay there all day if she desired.
He wasn't thrilled about the move to the big city but he was thrilled for her. It wasn't forever, or at least it didn't have to be. But he was willing to support her here and that meant the world. She wasn't the best or the smartest in the room but she was certainly the biggest dreamer. Through sheer tenacity, an open heart, and with the talent she did have, those dreams (more often than not) came true. From spinning, to sculptures, to all sorts of oddities in between, this untrained potter blossomed in her second go of a career. This time in a quiet? corner of the West Village.
The slightest sliver of sunlight peeked through the stormy downpour and began to flood this cozy brownstone. Natural light and a luxurious kitchen had been her only criteria when deciding where to live. He found the perfect space for them which had all she wanted and more. On the premise of a temporary residence, they went all out. Maybe her dreamer, risk taking tendencies were wearing off on him just a smidge after all these years. Sound drowned out by the rain, there was no honking this morning or bike bells ringing. Even the birds seemed to have slept in. It was as if they were the only two souls within miles. Even if they weren’t, with how tunnel visioned they were on each other, they couldn't tell the difference.
Finding herself awake for the second time, she decided to open her eyes. He had been watching her. Not in a creepy way - more so in a “wow, this is amazing” way. She smirked and without skipping a beat popped out of bed, wrapped herself in the pristine white bedding she treated herself to, then hopped out the bedroom window onto their private ivy wrapped terrace. Only a drizzle now, she craved to feel the droplets on her skin. For no other reason than to relish in the gratitude of life this morning and all that had led up to it. She couldn't help but laugh as she twirled around, squinting up at the overcast.
At first he just looked on in the loving way he often did. But that contagious giggle drew him in. He wasn't about to miss out on the fun she seemed to curate out of simple nothingness and launched out of bed, to meet her. Surprised by how cold this late summer rain landed on his chest, the chill injected an extra bounce of energy. He scooped her up and spun her around. In their embrace, the earth stopped spinning. Time was infinite, a momentary but everlasting utopia. It was them against the world. It had always been afterall.
On & On
Screaming but the words don't come out
Only in her dreams is she ever able to shout
Left in silence, feeling defeat
What happens when her heart and voice cant meet
Who could she turn to that would fully understand
Furthermore would they even dare to take her hand
Hold her and say
‘Darling it will be ok’
And ever in a way
Where all the darkness holds at bay
Certainly in this life there will come a time
Where there is rest, and peace, and sublime
Off in the distance she still holds out hope
Up the hill she climbs, the steepest of slopes
The beauty all around, where her focus lies
Climbing in altitude, up towards the sky
Back down to earth, worry dissipates for now
Grounded in today, unconcerned with the how
Hillsides and waterfalls and flowers all around
Thanks in her heart, knowing she is found
Held by mother nature, although still distant
Helps overcome trials, at least in this instant
Higher and higher, the peak now in sight
But is it the first or the last, only known by flight
Each crest an achievement, a moment of rejoice
The journey, its stunning, slowly finding her voice
Not as she thought, it rarely ever is
But still present, maybe only internal bliss…
Expressed from within. Maybe noise isn’t necessary
Light, energy, expression can be just as extraordinary
Revived and present, marching on with great stride
Determined with each step, to shine from inside
Seamless
Lying side by side, her back nestled into his front. Creating the perfect zig-zag shape as if their bodies were made for each other.
This was home.
She gazed out the window with soft eyes, finally surrendering to the peace and calm that washed over her. His arm wrapped around her, she drew his hand into her chest. Holding his thumb in her palm and dozing off to the gentle second hand’s rhythm on his wrist.
This was home.
Neither hardly had the time for an afternoon nap, but today they did. Neither actually hit REM but each found rest. Seamless they lay, scooting ever closer to fill the gap that was already closed. It never got too hot nor too cold. Salty sea air brought in a crisp breeze while their warmth melted any chance of shivers.
This was home.
The best part about being near the water in the winter was seeing the juxtaposed coarse crashing waves against a silent, serene, horizon that extended into infinity. Sunsets weren’t messy like the summer, although those were mesmerizing too. But when dusk arrived in December, the sky hosted a seamless rainbow. She could never precisely pick out where the pink faded to purple or purple disappearing into blue. And then the stars. Oh the winter night’s sky held all the secrets of the universe! There was no summer haze or stormy cloud cover to hide any of it.
This was home.
There they laid, seamless, as one. With no agenda, no ‘To-Do’s’, completely free of obligation. Left to count the dust particles that sprinkled around the room, dancing in the setting sun beams. With just a giant king pillow big enough to land between their knees and to hug tight too, she couldn’t remember the last day her eyes were dry. They weren’t here either but these were happy tears.
If only for this moment in time, it was worth it.
This was home.