When the tree gets it’s limbs cut off, it grows new ones in different places. That tells you two things: 1) it continued to grow after facing adversity and 2) it learned from the experience enough to grow in new ways.
In these small moments when the days run long and time is short I cherish the intentions I set in my journey to being more courageous with the things I love. Where is this journey taking you? Do you roam it alone or is there another soul present?
I love all that glistens in the flicker of light and reflection. Each unfocused point a bokeh effect on perceptive eyes. Each blur a breath that catches in your throat, leaving you unsure if to inhale or to release. May all glisten at just the right peaks and crests and in each day may this magic bring attention to all that truly matters.
Your crippling depression brings all of those around you to their knees and so you’ve turned to holding the whip of superficiality and now that’s all that you live for. You know this is about you and yet you pretend to misunderstand and you believe yourself above the clouds, immaculate because of your strife. In your eyes, you were dealt a lot in life that should have never been dealt to you and sure, you’ve been kind… to those outside of your circle—those who are appeased like fickle gods by vanity. I hope you know that you were needed, but somehow those that needed you earned a lesser value than those that emotionally obscured you, emotionally abused you. I also needed you once, but now I realize that I don’t need much at all and I guess I’ll keep living my life because I cannot stand to wait for your affection. Perhaps we’ll never form a deep connection and on our deathbeds will lie unfinished business, but I guess that’s the price to pay for broken families.
… And yet I love to hear you sing because when your voice rings through the air, your honest soul reverberates and the strength of your heart resonates and I can’t help but look into those green eyes and feel the clarity of a light beam through the foliage in a tropical rainforest.
So much ephemerality in this transcendent reality. The common truth is that we all end our journey at some point just as we all attempt to start it. Those of us who make it through the tunnel that begins life end up focusing on all the wrong parts when our vision clears.
I want to look at the small flowers and try to make things grow, but my legs feel like waterlogged roots that lead to withering of the rest of me and there’s no gardener up in the sky nor down on Earth that transfers me from this container; and all returns to darkness.