it’s l-o-v-e, of course

and etched in my mind are traces of a love drunk imagination. an enthusiasm for purpose for faithfulness.
a hopeful, wilful, childlike dreaminess. a reason for believing that doesn’t quit, not even after i’ve forgotten the very reason for all this believing.
and just when i think i’ll never remember why,
i close my eyes.
i put my hand to my chest.
i feel my heart beating.
and i am
very gently
reminded.

as i dream

it’s the comedown, it’s the nature of the nothingness now the time has passed. it’s the uncomfortable reality i’m trying to unknot from around my throat and wrists and ankles. i don’t want to be tethered to it.

freedom. from these shackles and dungeons, chains and ropes and bars i find myself trapped within beneath behind inside. set my heart free i want to fly fly fly. i want to soar – so high – my feet will never touch the ground [just the hearts of others, so very much like mine]. let me fly.

“i know you’re tired but come, this is the way.” – rumi

and i feel like myself, a little more a little more. as each minute passes. as light fades to turn the sky to the darkest blue and black.
i’ve been waiting all day to escape to the coma of a dream-filled night 
as the sun and the warmth have done nothing but mock the numb and the burnt and the broken. 
i feel like myself a little more and more than that.
but that’s all.

unlikely places

what about when you’re dirty and angry and hard? what about when you close yourself to beauty and sunlight? what about all those times you lie in bed alone with covers over your head screaming so silently just wishing someone would hear those painful whispers, just imagining the day when you’d wake and forget this life and forget this time and forget how it felt to have a heart that was in so many pieces you would never know how to start putting it back together.

and then, breath by breath, one by one, the shards and particles and porcelain chips would start to find their way back into the shape it once was. except for missing bits and pieces, here and there. and in those shallow hollows, memories would come flooding in, like plaster, to fill the holes and make it whole with stories you’ll try the rest of your life to keep so close, to hide.

but remember, these are the things that make you. that are you. these are the things that lead you to the moment or the person and the life that colours it all in glitter gold, and just like that, with all the powdery notion of you, this stardust being, you’ll be born again, forever again, and you’ll start living like none of it mattered, but you’ll realise it all always did and will, and this, this is what you can be grateful for.

flawed.
once broken.
in repair.
scared and living the most on-the-wire life you could have ever imagined.

because the fear feels so real when you’re alone inside yourself.

but this is you. be thankful. stay and watch it all unfurl in beautiful moments of imperfection, bad timing and mistakes made of mayhem. it’s all as it should be.

be scared.
then be brave.

you have a heart made of the pieces of all your time past, and now it’s twice as strong.

‘there is a voice that doesn’t use words. listen’ – rumi

travel stills the soul.
and perhaps the journey must break your heart
until it opens,
tenfold.

life, passed passes me by
so fast
and i find myself
on the balcony
of used-to-be
in a place, so far from all i knew this year.

it isn’t the end of the journey, oh no. it is only just the start.
i refuse to adjust, to fit back in, to be who i once was.
because there is no going back. there is only now and whatever lies ahead for me.
and i’ll make plans and take steps towards them all,
everyday in this life i knew and know.

i’m happy to be home.

you do realise i live a life out here?
away from all i learnt in all i was and all the places i found myself.
reflection leads to yearning.
it’s all the lessons in all the longing of when i was there. when i was that person. when i lived, day-to-day, in this in between, on-the-move, am-i-dreaming(?) surreality.

but i’m not looking back.

[a red balloon floats across a blue sky awash with white and wispy monet clouds.]

i’m here. it’s now. the wind still blows, i still ask questions and find answers in the movements of the universe as she showers me in confidence, that all i need to know i can find living deep within myself. not in the clouds of the skies but the storms and sunshine that brew and subside along the streams of my blood bursting through veins and clearing from smoke and mirrors emotion.

it has all become so clear, in asking and receiving.
in listening to morning birdsong, to the voice of that evening star.
in respecting the beautiful wishes of my still and beautiful heart.

a stone’s throw

from so far, it feels so near
and the memories aren’t drifting away like i expected them to
[yet desperately hoped they wouldn’t]
[well, i’m glad they aren’t].
it feels like the most pleasant dream, like a time and place that existed only in my mind, or only for us, and our tiny universe.
where all the stars fly across our beautifully dark and glittering sky.
where all the stars live in the reflection of your bright blue eyes.
where all the stars make up the all of us and everything we became in the tiniest pinprick of our lighted days. in mornings so lazy and nights that seemed like forever, but were so final and fleeting. in pinches of realness stunning our senses.
time made it real, time made it pass. time put us here, as it does, above all else that lives in the creases of the lives we folded so neatly together, an origami love story, a paper plane gliding through that starry sky of our wildest imaginations
and so we soar
to the beat of our hearts,
that keep their rhythm
eight thousand
three hundred
and twenty
miles
apart.

twinkle

i want the fairytale. i want the consistency of emotion, the growing and brewing of something as it strengthens and changes and pumps the blood through the veins of what holds me together. 

say stay. say go. it’s not too hard. it’s life and it’s love and it’s crazy. but it’s real and should be nurtured and fostered.

not broken for scraps. 

[we stood against the world and the chances drowned your hopefulness.] 

[i thought i knew better.]

i want the fairytale. i want the idealism. the emotion. i want the pain, the heartache, the tears and the breaking and repairing the tearing. so che sarà, sarà – it’s not yet midnight in the dance of my heart. there is so much moonlight left for my once upon a time.