I get lost sometimes in my love for you– it’s good to find my way out.
I get lost sometimes in my love for you– it’s good to find my way out.
the stories i tell myself– though elegantly crafted, are not true.
words are not always given form… but constantly echo through my mind.
you hold a mirror up to me that no one else has helped me to see.
insecurities are rooted in a place that rarely sees the light.
I never read the rules for mothering it seems I was absent that day– perhaps all of us were. Carrying around the textbook burden of guilt, the weight of which mocks our shortcomings and reveals the all-too constant truth that we’re just winging it. Each new day, another brave face– scooping up the pieces …
sometimes i think it might be easier if you used a few more words.
timelessness emerges existing next to you. a span of hours, days– one tender moment folded into lifetimes spent chasing shadows and resurrecting structures. mapping this careful framework entrusted to none but ourselves. the understated pageantry of a life unfolding small moments witnessed– all access granted to the one whose willingness to engage is unsurpassed. …
always i tumble into the tumult– only to find my way through.
i don’t need to take pictures– your fluid image emblazoned in my mind feet gliding above the sand hands blossoming a golden lotus. this seamless stretch of time away from existing structures– free to explore new contours find new lines in the curves of our faces. a deepening– realizing– acknowledging of what is and …
the edges of myself 