How tired you make me.
I grow weary and old when I am supposed to be young and full of dreams.
I feel as if I have lived a hundred years, so exhausted does my soul and heart bear down on me.
But I have not even truly lived yet in this one life.
There has been no grand love or even grander adventure.
There has been no freedom from this pain and heartbreak.
Only this staid life in exchange for a paycheck I have been told is what brings happiness.
And I…I have been to scared to seek more because of the whispers that scream I’ll fail.
Because of the screams from those that failed that whisper back I am not enough.
It feels as if my soul has been bleeding out for eternity, a slow and painful death.
Until I am gasping for air out loud because I cannot hold it back.
My heart beating louder with each breath, a faint ringing in my ears over and over. Each beat the same set of words of living with hopes of peace and freedom.
I cannot go on as I have any longer. I must let go of what was and instead carve out a life that is mine in every way. I must be be young even though I am old. And old even while I am young.
When the brightness of day gives way to a luminous night, the moons rays fall across her weary face.
She is at once the Maiden, Mother, and Crone of the old tales. Shining with an inner radiance you can see rippling across the surface of her skin.
As the worries of the day fade, the laugh lines around her eyes come out to play. The moon rises ever higher above her as she tosses her head back.
It’s light shines fully over her face and down her neck covering her body as she screams like a banshee of legends gone by, fully embracing her whole self.
In that one perfect moment, all else is forgotten except the oneness of moon and female brought together by the darkness of night and that which resides in her.
Her fury and wisdom are given free reign, not even the soreness of her throat or the tears on her reddened cheeks can disturb the peace found in the moons caress.
Maiden, Mother and Crone, a banshee of legend, she is everything you think she is not and nothing like you think she is.
She does not ask your permission for the space she inhabits. Only that you do not unwisely stray onto her path, less she takes herself from the peace of the moon and gives you the fire of the sun.
If she was a universe, then he was the earth.
His eyes warm and determined like the soil. Always changing, yet at the core steady and solid, waiting and watchful.
His mouth was like water, able to burn or soothe with every word and movement. Life changing like ocean waves that wrapped around his lover and rocked them even after parting.
His hands were like vines. Whip strong, weathered and calloused from his work. Showing what built him and what he would become.
His body was a shelter from every storm known to man, calling his companion back home after every wandering adventure.
His mind was a mine, filled with untold treasures and long forgotten tales, ones he revealed slowly to those who were patient enough to listen. It was endless tunnels and resting places.
He was like the earth.
Intelligent, stunning, full of mystery and care. He walked like there was always a destination. Rooted in the ground, with eyes up towards the sky.
Love like love is me mapping the stars across your body with my fingers and mouth. Connecting your unique scars and marks into a new pattern every night.
Love like love is me draped over your body or you draped over mine. Soft hands gliding over skin and dragging through hair to soothe away whatever came before.
Love like love is me catching your laugh in my mouth just to taste your happiness because there’s nothing more stunning than that moment of joy with you.
Love like love is my lips skating over your cheeks to whisk away your tears. Wishing I could take all your pain and carry it until you regained your strength.
Love like love is how you know the little things like how I take my coffee and how I drink my scotch. Because they fit the bigger picture of you loving me while I’m loving you.
Chaos controls the heart,
But order guides the mind.
The heart embraces what it feels,
The mind rejects what it doesn’t understand.
The heart is only as free as the mind allows,
But your mind is only as open as your heart can take.
The two are infinitely intertwined. One cannot function at its best without the other.
And so it is for me with you even when you are not near.
Everything is clear when I am in your presence. When you take a walk across the garden in my mind. Your feet forging a new path made just for you.
When you brush your callused fingers against my petals, stirring my thoughts and passions. Plucking the weeds left cluttered by the world and the past.
Planting new seeds in their place, so that you may continue to hoard the flowers you love best and watching over those that struggle to grow.
Even when you are far away. I can feel the phantom brush of fingers. Your head as it laid in the grass. You stared up at the thoughts and ideas that created a vivid sky unlike any other.
I could hear your voice wandering over it all. So I tentatively plucked a few of my flowers that I’d planted just for you. Gathering some seeds. And I took a walk across the bridge.
I brushed my fingers over the stone and knocked on the door to your garden and asked if I may come in. To share a few flowers that I’d made just for you…
There was a girl I knew.
Sometimes she was full of laughter.
And other times her honesty drove people away.
She didn’t play games and she often lacked control, by having too much control over her emotions. It was hard for her to speak sometimes and not plan it out before hand, not the every day things of course, but the things that mattered.
She was a mess, and had been broken more times then she fully remembered except when it suddenly rushed back. She constantly wondered if she was enough. Or worthy of being loved.
Because so many had left her, by death or by choice. In one form or another, the result is still the same, yes?
Now it wasn’t just a question of was she worthy of being loved. It was more was she capable of feeling it when someone gave it? And sometimes when her demons came out to play, the simple answer was: No.
Someone might say it and other sweet things, but there were always times a voice inside her replied…is it true? She’d want to believe it.
She had so much love to give. But her loving someone was never the issue, she did so without reserve except when it came to the belief they would love her back.
So instead she sat quietly, sometimes she was full of laughter. And sometimes her honesty drove people away.