Mostly because of tomorrow, we look forward with hope but mostly yesterday’s meetings have our eyes glancing back with a quiet pleading wrapped inside a paper shield.
One a longing for something whose moments never live without the presence of happiness.
The other a wish, not about acceptance but a better hiding of the ashes of suffering.
The duality of dreaming while standing in the parade of what has been and the fixation of change.
In the walking with glimpses of an unusual light in the distance and the reminders of iconic storms.
In the chasing of predictable on journeys that don’t ask permission for unreliable to exist.
In the captivity of the dislike of survival and the nervousness of leaving that narrative behind, just in case.
In the asking to move forward with different thoughts while the heart’s priority is past tempos.
In the attention on being loved over there in rooms where right now needs the hug of a lifetime.
In the waiting for the invaluable that finishes with confidence in exchange of the quiet strength painstakingly grown in the unwished-for.
And in the sewing of patterns that read the pages after having played by the rules of buying the stories for years.
These are the movements within the spaces of gardens trying to set themselves free from the boundaries of their own homes.
These are the words exhausted by the miles they have traveled thus far and know no other way to be.
These are the protests of the old being laid to rest and the vulnerability of the new as it seeks to meld past wisdom into future versions it has not met yet.
This is the worry of balancing the dark with the light.
And this is the forging of a friendship between love and hate once separated by a paper shield.
Once upon a time a weed dreamed of becoming a flower, but then it saw that it had something unique to add and so it leaned in to be embraced by the artistry that only a garden can do.
Have the best day POSSIBLE for you. Love Always, Heavell
If it were possible to leave behind the existence of invisible wounds, would “unstoppable” be the energy flowing onto every unwritten page?
If teardrops only fell during laughter that makes stomachs hurt, would the meaning of blood, sweat and tears touch differently?
If dragons no longer freely roamed the hallways, would the anthems of mundane things sound better?
If moments were permanently crossed out, would every happy occasion from those times also be packed away?
If hopes came true, would they be as valuable without the wearing down from the wilderness lived along the way?
If everything was changed or even just here and there, would the poverty of earned wisdom create doubt in the tomorrows?
For if we are honest, it is far easier to meet less demanding in the mirror than it is to dream of flying high with the complexities of a whole lot of labor pushing against us.
Effortless to know what should have happened after the moments have passed then it is to embrace forgiveness for the spin of not knowing or the repeating of familiar.
Natural to rely on a system that reflects worth only in the best parts than to imagine breaking the limits that deplete us before we have even started.
And yet amidst all that is in the delicate dance of debris and blooming, what we have we have met in living more in the give and take of art.
In the painful distortions of growing pains exposing thoughts and feelings needing open words to unite in.
In wisdom refusing to show up without the flex of mistakes and struggles helping to nourish it.
In speeches of hurt hearts desiring to be heard without the fear of additional losses.
In strength standing on the fringe as a witness to the vulnerability of survival crawling its way through the messes.
In journeys that make knowing hope deeply intimate rather than merely an idea on a page.
In determination that has made it through minimal lighting and every reason not to but did so anyways.
If we are still asking who we would be without what has been, unrestricted unstoppable allows pausing as many times as we need for as long as it takes in learning to love the versions that hope is trying to forget.
Have the best day POSSIBLE for you. Love Always, Heavell
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