I can’t see what he once meant to me
Do you think it’s time I put it out of my mind
I think it’s time I let my love for him die

I could drink a case of you, darling.

The changing of colors this October is lovely. Reds, golds, yellows, greens are saturating my everyday. It couldn't be more beautiful as the season grows. Coats and wooly jumpers are bundling us up and the sky is overcast grey. This is when I am reminded that I am happy, living, growing, dancing on a journey of possibility. And the most wonderful part of it all, is the simplicity of the seasons intertwined in my hands. Oh! What love has brought me here.

breaking

I'm gathering my things and I am sailing away. I'm breaking off from the mainland with full speed ahead. This is the end of our story, this is the end of all of us.

I am forgetting
what it meant to love you
what it meant to run away
from your wide, eyed smile.
This distance never solved anything,
she only poured us both a cup of tea
to sip on
and so i'd sleep on
this complicated mouth,
swirling synergy down my throat.
I'd hate to say you were never beautiful
but my eyes have grown three times
as large.
and you think of yourself too much
in the way your garden grows.
So fare thee well
love of mine.
Lets make it through this time.

Je seul vis.

I live alone. And it's beautiful.
Because,
when all the world is sauntering by and men have left you standing on the wayside, it is critical to crawl into some of the smallest spaces and just simply breath. Yesterday, today, and tomorrow I am standing confidently in the patterns of my footsteps, I do not need any one human being to hold me up, when I have the strength of my own. Living alone has given me the independence that most of you are not ever capable of possessing in a lifetime, and here it lies right at the tip of my fingertips.
I'm freely dancing in my beauty.

And I am very happy.

I don't want you. I don't want him. Because how naive your spirit is to this young woman, that you have let go. She will not stop at nothing, she will not ever stop at you because this glorious dance is calling her name. If you are willing and capable then pick up your feet, triumph your days, and swiftly come along with me.

Ecclesiastes

In my mind's eye, she would not leave the room to enter the new phase of her life. Thus, like a woman caught in Twilight Zone, she would remain stagnant or lost forever.
This very melancholy stage of our lives is richly embodied within the breathing veins of Ecclesiastes:

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose underthe Heaven:
A time to be born, and a time to die;
A time to plant and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
A time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing.
A time to get, and a time to lose. . .

"A Woman"

This is written in the Hebrew Talmud, the book where all of the sayings and preaching of Rabbis are conserved over time.

It says:

"Be very careful if you make a woman
cry, because God counts her tears. The woman
came out of a man's rib. Not from his feet to be
walked on. Not from his head to be superior, but
from the side to be equal. Under the arm to be
protected, and next to the heart to be loved."

I WAS vs. Am

I.
I was
blanketing the sound
of repercussion before realizing
I miss that incredible feeling
of waking up next to you,
of falling asleep in your arms,
of smiling because you made me;
it was always effortless,
the intensity your eyes instilled
beneath the surface of my skin,
embedded in my pores,
something soap could never
wash away;
but for some reason,
i scrubbed it dry.
II.
i am
inquisitive of the foundation
for my departure;
does it mirror your own?
an escape,
a release,
a temporary fix that may
be permanent if all the
holes can be stitched in a timely fashion.
III.
i was
never the type
to wear my heart
on my sleeve -
(it is now broken
& bleeding for all
to see)
the sutures are
merely bandaged over
& i keep ripping them out.
IV.
i am
an open wound
(& i still miss that
incredible feeling.)


The air is cold, mid-blue, and a hum descends down the mountains, through the blue-ridge valley. I put on a wooly jumper & rub my hands together, but the air is dry & they begin to chap. I pull a seashell out of my chest of drawers and pull it to my ear; I heard once that the sea takes for itself whatever it wishes, to escape from its lurches is more a curse than a blessing. I think about stringing shells across the Atlantic Ocean, like tin can telephones, with brown parcel string where the gulls can sit. I'll send you an Atlantic seashell,
so you can hear the waves.

swinging from the vines, lined up in the sunshine

Sinking ships, breaking bones

Static.

Somewhere along the way I lost it. I feel like I am no more. But just a sinking ship whose bones are breaking. I remain on the surface of the seas and the rain, a wet and cold feeling of hollow behavior.
I am wanted in these places. But not in the one I truly would like to encompass. So here, I remain static. Between these decisions of heartbreak and life at its ultimate direction.


Give me an ultimatum. Give me somewhere. Give me something.

inside this little heart of mine

does anyone in this world truly understand her? The dreams, passions, and her capability to love?

Many do not even think as she thinks, believe as she so passionately believes, or create as her heart lets her. it is a world so uniquely shaped and distant from your reality.