There are homes that are painted with hurt and the confusion of the time that it still demands.
With memories that don't allow swapping places with dreams because the rain doesn't just interact with the crowds of the past.
And words that have been built around all of it that weren't inherited in the same way as the pages of others.
There are wishes for flowers without the desire to know how to deal with the weeds.
Out-of-rhythm dancing that rises to meet the noise of dragons and inconsistent happiness.
And grief that thinks it is the star of the stories while smiles seek to be believed in.
For this is yesterday's framework showing up as today's model to continue the wilting and withering of the tomorrows through prior and future impacts.
A habit of being prepared for the storms that seem to be bonded to the light and ordinary days that hold a secret friendship with the worry.
In the company of shadows reading the lines that suffer with silent tears and the loss of sleep.
And yet, we have come all this way because of a willingness to reach the versions
that remember how we take our bad days and stay anyways.
To be the gardens that know the footsteps of the weeds so that when the rain comes, we aren't finished.
To be the colors bursting with life that see the darkness in a way that we never thought was embraceable.
And to be the ones that notice that the "toughing it out" of the past was enough and choose to have patience as that survival skill resists fading away.
For love isn't always happy, and hope doesn't always work out, but both redefine the stories that have been narrated in the direction that never really meets us.
Because love doesn't change the facts, it intentionally gives the observation that messy isn't the only perspective in the nothing but real things.
For love is a traveler reading between the lines, delivering what we need when truth hurts, and the lighting isn't all right.
There's something about wanting there to be here, where thinking of tomorrow won't just be something to dream of.
But what always seems days away will also always feel unreachable deep in the homes that the weather conspires against and words fail.
And so, we are here, all along packing hand-made art into the twists and turns of crowds of feelings while not realizing that love doesn't need a particular version, it just stays anyways.
Have the best day POSSIBLE for you. Love Always, Heavell
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