why not just not cry? detaching from the process allows unfolding…
why not just not cry? detaching from the process allows unfolding…
my heart cannot be tempered; though many other parts of me endure.
overrun and overcome by the river of emotion– the soft insistent flow that surges without explanation– a wandering thought gives rise to the butterflies that live inside my stomach and travel through my body (to some places more than others) when you come to mind. moving through carefully placed postures and understood roadblocks– the logic of them unable to assuage the …
i am a little crazy– it’s true– but of course my friend, so are you.
every tiny piece that has ever been part of me is rushing back NOW. leaving me to feel undeniably full and blessed for knowing you…
i can say the same thing over and over again with new words– articulate the feelings, ever expanding– and celebrate the joy that flows through and around my heart like hot springs, beginning internally and working their way out to the edges– creating a warmth, a safety, that cannot be duplicated. i am vast, …
my love for you flattens all constructs, replaces ideas, fragments the structures so clearly fixed. it leaves me amongst the rubble and decay of beliefs and images held dearly since the beginning of time. understanding as a caterpillar taking to her chrysalis, that with the death of certainty, comes the birth of flight.
If i could paint a picture of the moment when my heart first became yours– its edges would blur– the canvas never sufficient expression. If a machine existed that measured the point of impact (when my soul first recognized yours) it would irrefutably prove the magnitude of a love– its fabric stretched across lifetimes. …
yesterday i peeled away a layer one that had long concealed my vulnerability. Underneath that film– i found a need to prove myself. a deep and darkened shame, a tortured, broken structure that believed in itself to the point of actualization. As i walked around the landscape of my deeply held beliefs, turned concrete, …
our matching postures ankles crossed, feet mirroring my yin and your yang
the edges of myself 