tips of fingers spring
sunshine rays and
intimacy
on warm beach sands
in hot upstair rooms
laughter and dreams ring like bells
in my mind sacristy.
as pure as rose petals and moonlight
as still as december nights
as lovely as a broken heart
for they're the brave ones.
forest paths, and open skies
deep briny breaths and starry eyes
roaring engines and highway signs
fast music and neon skylines
pink lightning and train rides
falling ... in what everytime?
ive had such a struggle lately with what i believe in regarding people, feelings, whats real and what is not. initmacy is real. the spirit of a person is real. is it possible to love? i feel like i can't discuss words i don't understand. is love and intimacy the same thing? i know they sort of go hand in hand but is there any difference? and when i say intimacy i don't mean sex. i mean a connection. a secret shared is intimate. a deep conversation can be intimate. a dream is intimate.
i remember a time when life was laced with intimacies. and sun and light and easy feelings. when the world looked like floral print and felt like warm cotton linens on clotheslines.
things these days are dark and heavy. full of weight careful words decisions and regrets holding back "what ifs" and dirty cobwebs. resistance and comparisons. expectations that i will never meet.
in hopes of finding something better, im trying to be something im not.
everyone else remembers me, but i forgot.
i forget most things.
im frustrated because to me this feel strange. tense hard something i have to learn.
when i always thought i would just know. but turns out i dont know anything.
except that im not very brave i guess.
i think im destined to be a crazy cat lady. too bad im allergic.
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