What a thing it is to have pages with lines that most often feel heavy rather than easy.
Art wired to be qualified for the motto of overwhelmed.
Reminders of the depth of the colors settled upon the walls.
And actions combining with feelings in such messy ways.
What a thing it is to have sheets with features that sometimes pitch steeply instead of desirably.
Songwriting that isn’t always able to push away the debate that is seeking to be heard.
Notes creating mixed-tapes to be sung.
And music that has had some lovely choruses poured into it.
What a thing it is to have stages with monologues that broadcast a lot of happiness.
Scripts that choose not only the writer but the main character as well.
Words that expand with each breadth and wrap around like a hug.
And as a sanctuary that shines even when the weather sends out alerts that it might storm.
For this is the way of a story fluctuating between the possibilities of unhappy and happy.
Not because losses know its name.
Not because there is friendliness.
And not because everything done right leads to everything going right.
But that the whole package of hell, heaven and every single step in between carry on.
In making hope hard in the dark, easy in the light and only slightly noticeable at other times.
In turning the rain into what grows flowers, washes dreams away and also all right anyways.
In the smallness of being in the arms of the weather, the power of a smile and remaining despite the games.
For this is the meeting of thoughts and emotions within that very same artwork.
In taking words and raising or lowering their voices depending upon the moment.
In presence feeling wrong or right and the conflict of doing something next either way.
In the historicalness of red going so deep into love but also into anger.
Apart from the hope.
Past the empty and filled spaces.
Beyond ideas.
And further than any words ever spoken elsewhere.
Moments of truth mixed with confusion plus some really good art.
Chances to paint the hushes, the closeness of weakness, and the circulating weather.
The bravado of dances and shadows that have made time with us.
And learning to love the person walking with not just the pressure of weeds but flowers as well.
For this is a garden.
This is artwork.
This is us living the entirety of a story within our homes.
And for a particular word, all of that show and tell clearly belongs underneath the label of adaptability.
Have the best day, POSSIBLE for you. Love Always, Heavell
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