An old wound but the scab is gone.
We drove past our old streets, no tingle, no remorse.
Numbness hit, a chill of too many unsaid words and then the pounding headache only Rosemary can cure.
Resulting in this present day: sun-filled, splattered in pink and red, sprayed roses in windows and mushy love oozing out all over the place.
And this is my love: holding strong and intentional boundaries, fearlessness, boldness, entering into the unknown knowing, smiles at strangers and welcoming in new faces.
There is birth, there is miscarriage.
What is it I want to see through?
Who do I want to be as I see it through?
Every moment a decision: dicernment still wraps around my right wrist, it's getting tattered, it's helped so much.
Questioning intentions. Lack of determination, contentment and depression. Sometimes they mask each other, I never quite can tell.
So the Sunday morning farmers market will be filled with lovers holding hands but those hands that fit snuggly hold so much within.
Pain, attachment, fears of abandonment, idol worship.
And some,
Wonder, creation, blissfullness, dreams, abundance.
We just never know, so calm the mind, eat a donut and adorn yourself.
Love is only love if it feeds you to the core, and my stomach is rumbling,
I've got inner work to do.
We drove past our old streets, no tingle, no remorse.
Numbness hit, a chill of too many unsaid words and then the pounding headache only Rosemary can cure.
Resulting in this present day: sun-filled, splattered in pink and red, sprayed roses in windows and mushy love oozing out all over the place.
And this is my love: holding strong and intentional boundaries, fearlessness, boldness, entering into the unknown knowing, smiles at strangers and welcoming in new faces.
There is birth, there is miscarriage.
What is it I want to see through?
Who do I want to be as I see it through?
Every moment a decision: dicernment still wraps around my right wrist, it's getting tattered, it's helped so much.
Questioning intentions. Lack of determination, contentment and depression. Sometimes they mask each other, I never quite can tell.
So the Sunday morning farmers market will be filled with lovers holding hands but those hands that fit snuggly hold so much within.
Pain, attachment, fears of abandonment, idol worship.
And some,
Wonder, creation, blissfullness, dreams, abundance.
We just never know, so calm the mind, eat a donut and adorn yourself.
Love is only love if it feeds you to the core, and my stomach is rumbling,
I've got inner work to do.
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