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She wants to stand outside, look up, and know: the building in front of her won't vanish. She wants to know: the building is safe inside, that we've searched, really thoroughly, and there are no monsters we can't fight. She can fight. Damn, can she fight. But this time, she won't be alone in any fights that need fighting. Nor is she alone now. And the monsters won't be like before. If ever the day comes when she no longer lives in the building, she will want to look up at it and say: "Goodbye. Thanks for the memories." But for now, she wants to stand outside, look up at the building in front of her, and know she’s home.  Perhaps you are humming? Still, I know you are happy here in this vivid green forest. Exploring on your own, past ancient stones and groves, you found this quiet glade. You know, even here, you are not without guides, for the stars will stay close. In the distance you hear a dancing brook, a calming reminder that play is welcome. Sometimes, you hum. Sometimes, you sing. Sometimes, you simply listen to the music around you. a poem about chosen family. a hug on the inside,
a feeling so free, found upon my first visit to this inland sea. here, one need not always be silent or the most noisy, time is made for everyone – ah, intentionality! gatherings with love and humility, with listening ears for each person’s voice and story. I have risen above thinking your heart
worthy of my thoughts - your outdated image of me can never contain truth because you call stagnation comfort. I have risen above sharing darkness with you; the sun moves with a predictability and tenderness you cannot muster, during day or night. I have risen above accepting your hands as worthy of being called safe; I have learned how it should feel - when hands touch with love. |
