Comfortable #434

Despair isn't a one feeling show.

A single color.

A solo word.

A sole moment. 

Nor one of a kind.

As a darkness that doesn't watch its mouth even in the light.

Love isn't a single proof of something.

A monochromatic approach.

Equally yoked everywhere.

Congruent with each moment.

Nor one of a kind.

As a light whose algorithm goes underground in the whispers.

Each shares space within the home.

New and old pieces feeling every beat.

One sticking the landing in belief.

The other, building in silence.

Drifting across time and place.

And fear scouting both from the stands.

Life just traveling along as our Lense produces consistent images.

While we wait for a different home.

Reward the wrong things.

Vote for the mess.

Compose what we have over and over again.

And subscribe to already being down.

Not because it's accurate, but because we only know how to do familiar positions.

The ones where the talking leads to the same results every single time.

Maintaining what is imaginable and forgetting to question what else the spaces could hold.

For the moments become less about what happened and more about what we think they say about us.

So, when it comes to despair, happy doesn't mind us taking those breathes.

As far as love is concerned, it being unrecognized doesn't mean it's not there.

And for fear, well we never meant to only be brave.

The capacity of our words has worn out its welcome in the lives that we are living.

Those very limitations that have made us a contradiction in our own homes and dreams.    

And it only takes one step after another to become comfortable in expanding those identities that we no longer need to be kept by.

It's not that we can't; it's that we haven't figured it out yet.

Have the best day, POSSIBLE for you. Love Always, Heavell