sky-writing

 the sky is telling me stories. with its golden-hued clouds and glowing setting sun, the darkening and the lightening as time moves constant and along.
things are falling into chanced and beautiful placing. things are coming and going both rapid and slow and i find myself in the middle of it watching it float by in this mysterious happenstance. the difference is
now i see it.
as a ray of sunshine lit a too-near horizon – in all the places you’d never expect it – and i looked up and it caught my eye and i thought of something poignant and right just at that time, it put chills up my spine and goosebumps on my skin.

so many things needed to happen for me to find you.
it’s not crazy, it’s perfect.
like the sky and its stories and the winding trails to understanding the enigmatic electricity that pulses through our veins.
i feel alone / i know you’re there.
the contrast is blinding and beautiful.
i’m not lonely because you’re there, loving me.
and i love you.
bursting
i see you in the stories in the extraordinary, shielding sky we share our days and sleep beneath
and dream beneath
and miss one another
so much
beneath.
the one thing that will bring you back to me.
stories flooding and raining and coursing on the wind
as you fly home.

the way

today i found a happiness i might have lost
in all the busyness,
lost in all the waiting
and forgetting here and now.
today
i found moments
that found me in all their glistening meant to be
and they led me to a way
and they showed me how to walk.

longer, still

once, we didn’t know each other. once, we hadn’t met. i was younger then, and maybe not quite me, i was just searching and waiting for life to sweep me off my feet.
then, it was you.
forever it is you.
so maybe this was written
entirely in the stars.
a constellation love story burning bright, somewhere far across the universe.
there was never a beginning, you know, just a place where we picked up. a moment in time to bring us back together.
we were only ever inches from each other,
for each other.
made for this.
to meet and meet and meet again.
in all the lifetimes we’ve ever had.
and we might spend eternity finding one another in that writing in the stars.
i’ve known you from ago.

is

a loneliness i  spent a long time avoiding washed over me like i never knew it would [again]. 

i thought i conquered this, i thought it was all about the adventure the experience the living to a passionate tee?

well, dear, in  naivety, you thought wrong. with all your heartfelt goodness. all your silver linings and glasses half full, or filling, all the rainbows on rainy days and compassionate and unwavering belief of why things are how they are, you never once considered things might feel bad. and they might feel bad again. because it’s all a little like dull, leftover glitter stuck on every visible surface of your thin skin. and then some. it’s all a little like the walking and exhausting and the thinking and the thinking and thinking thinking thinkingthinkingthinking.

it’s all a little out of your control right now, so dear, in the here in the now, ride the wave and find the joy and love the moment for what and how it is. because it is all there is.

dream on

and how i long for that simplicity, for you to feel what i feel and realise that this isn’t happenstance, that this isn’t crazy or strange or unusual in any way. that this is what it is because we make it like it is, because we say yes or we say no or stop or go or change this way that way up down stay leave travel job money child puppy partnership priorities house home
higher stiller clearer
more less and or forever never
you
me
we
love.

bind your soul to the edges of my own. and feel what i feel, it won’t take you long.

feel the rumbles and the softness of the change you can rely on. feel the pain and the hurt of the moments that don’t quite go your way. feel it all how it all should be felt, let it go and leave the rest to fate. wish upon that first bright star and find your dreams come true in explosive moments so surreal and momentary. and they’ll all become part of your very perfect future so very perfectly out of your very perfect control. and you’ll surrender to the causality, to the uncontrollable notion that nothing and everything will go to plan. and that no plan [and every plan and even every unknown plan] is, in its entirety,
the
exact
plan.

steep your dreams in permanence. brew ideas from the deepest crevasse of your imagination. live your own incredible, immaculate life. and build it from the wishes of everything your brave beautiful beating heart desires.

north/south/east/west

so i change and break, and move and stay and fall and fly and hurt and stumble, and i get right back up. those moments of shifting and deciding what’s right or worthy or wrong or hopeful will bring resolve to my life my path my future.

i’ll find the answers in the roots, in the arteries of the empathy and the reason for it all.

why do the pieces fall in the places they do?

well,
why do they fall at all?

i make patterns from the chaos and pictures in the litter. this life is beaming with possibilities so open, endless. infinite. i choose what i choose and i follow the lead of my heart. her beat lays braille, she’s the compass i read, wide-eyed and willingly. and the touch pulls me gently, the faintest flutter, the air in a butterfly’s wings.

she’ll pave a way through the wilderness of this wonderful, beautiful, magical world.

‘a poem starts with a lump in the throat’ – robert frost

i want to write poetry on big sheets of paper. i want inky pens and gliding prose to rearrange the whiteness of a blank page that stares, so stark, so blindingly, back at me.

i want to write a story in rhyme, or not. 

i want it to mean something when pulled this way or that way
or no way at all. 

my own lines to time will change the world in words that mean nothing alone. 

but i’ll string them together with dreaming and heartbreak,
with honest to goodness forevers and always’. 

i’ll piece them just where i think they belong. 

i’ll change and i’ll utter the words of the world. of people, in remembering, and things, all the same. 

because poems and people are flowing through mazes
of days and time and secret hiding places built in forts as children, built in others when grown.
in their hearts, in their stories, along the threads of our own.

within a life we make from the choices we’re given,
between yeses and nos.
and i’ll write the prose of the poems and people, all just the same. in this world. on that edge. balancing between falling and 

falling.