Empty space in our moments is quietly traded away for what our imagination fills it in with.
Beliefs that welcome the talking points of insecurity.
Unchecked dislike without consideration for the courage that danced in those fields too.
Presentation implying that we can’t outgrow what we’ve gotten used to because we should have never known that stuff to begin with.
Messages raised by the gardener and the garden that share the identity of being both.
Confusion declaring that the writer should write better while the main character should be able to use what’s written better.
Equality of the pain carried on in being an imperfect artist and artwork.
Unity without reflection on walking a journey while being every step of the trek too.
Having been slowly created by the inventiveness that didn’t arrive loudly.
That creeped through one moment, one thought, and one feeling at a time.
That arrived from the diluting of support.
And we have to meet that version that has filled in those absences with its blindness.
The one that has been debating us and our possibilities.
The one that is familiarity with colors on repeat.
As well as being the solution for things that have been stirred up around us and in us.
The response while on the side with little laughter.
The presence of footsteps and the feelings from each movement.
While hope makes its way through days filled with the doubt in being these individuals.
Never mentioning that no matter how it works out, we are going to handle it.
Never embracing the uncertainty of the weather but instead wishes for it to go.
Never changing how we think to hold ourselves right here and now.
And never saying that the old won’t become obsolete until the new secures its dialogue.
But isn’t that the way in trying to trust walks sharing space with thoughts that never seem to run out of messed-up sentences?
In trying to remember that quieter doesn’t mean bravery and resilience aren’t present in our stories.
In trying to sort through our things to be everything that we need in what doesn’t seem to have much to work with.
From where we are, we can see a space that we are unsure of what to say or do in.
And just maybe we could live a little more if a particular word left its color in that vulnerable spot.
The kind of word that as long as we fasten it, there won’t be much room for imagination to carelessly fill in spaces and upend our stories.
Have the best day, POSSIBLE for you. Love Always, Heavell
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