For all the Wooden Boxes in the Sea
So let me get this straight, you’re asking me to bottle my heart, my emotions, currently in an open mess; tie them up neatly, into a tight knit ball. Place my heart, now in a tight knit ball, into a wooden box and chuck said box into the sea.
But, one day that box is gonna hit a rock and that tight knit ball is going to unravel out my heart, which is going to come exploding out, bubbling forth, causing waves and ripples you never knew could exist.
Will you be ready for that day?
Sometimes – (Randoms)
Sometimes, dontcha just miss the old days? Why so much emphasis on moving on, tackling the new?
Sometimes, don’t you just miss ice cream trucks strolling through summer days, warm breeze, age 7? Don’t you miss summer-filled basement movie nights, without any planning? Just doing, going, seeing where the day takes us aka having fun, sleeping then not caring what tomorrow brings – be it more shows, movies, games, running, sprinting, chilling? That’s youth. Don’t you miss it?
I said sometimes, though. Sometimes, the whole next phase in life thing, adulting thing – seriously what on Earth even is “adulting” – is kinda important. So, sometimes I just miss ice cream trucks strolling through summer days, warm breeze, age 7.
Her Spirit’s a Free Bird
Don’t know why, but it’s Feb 10, and it finally, finally feels like she can go back. Like she can be in a dream again. Like she can see the imprints of stars in the sky again; like she wants to breathe in the rain again. Airy rain. Dirt rain. Delicate, dense rain. Like, like, like, like… again home belongs in her heart.
Her home is plaited with others’ needs, with the wants of simplicity; simpler times. And, her gift is her heart to you. Because, innocence is all she clings to and, honestly, it’s all she understands. Complexity complicates her mind.
She sees the dirt. She feels, oh, she feels the dirt in her hands again. She’s drowning light in the moment again. Every sensory delight arriving – finally arriving.
P.S. Please don’t step on her gift again; please don’t cage her again.
Because, P.S. Her spirit’s a free bird again.
Just Typing 