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 worlds i’ve moved through since meeting you– gratitude does not begin to cover the debt i feel i owe– realizing the maximum of all that i am and understanding that i have yet barely scraped the surface. knowing that as i rise– you rise with me– our expansion exponential when walking together. …
continually marveling at the splendid perfection that is.
the reason you’re different from everyone else is because your potential is constantly in the process of being realized. there is an earnestness in your actions that takes me back to childhood; honeysuckle along a path of green and a strawberry patch that stretched the length of a summer sunset. And it cannot be denied that …
my smile, a long-lost friend who i hadn’t realized departed, slowly backed out the door years ago, almost imperceptively. she’s beginning to reemerge along with the rest of me. i see her reflected back at me in mirrors and photographs– recognizing the joy that flows from behind her– feeling safe enough to show herself. regaining …
standing in the kitchen, a wave washes over– a gentle reminder of the beauty and certainty surrounding me. for there is little more tangible than love– and time and actions speak worlds more than flowery words and unencumbered emotion. they speak to a carefulness in thought– a measured action for the purpose of reason– for there is little …
there are moments when it hits me, the magnitude: who you are to me…
loving you feels like a bright song eagerly sung by the sweetest, truest songbird high up in the branches of a tree which is begging to be climbed on a temperate summer day with the sun streaming through the leaves coloring everything with a lens of flawless, wholesome green.
the edges of myself 