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
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