Filmy
With you, it seems like the movie could keep going.
Women of Word
I get hurt a little too loudly and scream a little too quietly
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?
Eight
She always thought that when love hit her, it would strike her not steal from her.
~ the eight yr old pig tailed girl in her mickey sweater
Quotes
When you’ve been absorbed by pain for a long time, you forget to look at your own life. I mean really look at your life, your wants, your goals that you’ve left in “Notes” – 88 and counting. But, now, with that pain finally subsiding, hopefully continuing to subside, your eyes see things they’ve neglected. That’s a whole other field of anxieté. So, instead let’s just be grateful for the moment of peace. Let’s just leave the rest to 8:28 “It’ll all work out… sooner than later;” even if it’s later, it’ll still work out.
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.
A Lover of Rain – Stream of Consciousness
Why do the cherished moments, the innocent seconds keep fleeing our fingertips? Or, is it only me who misses childhood? Is it only me who misses Paddle Pop in the rain?
I’m ok with being dirt. After all, dirt graced with rain is a scent indescribable, a scent laced with memories and joy, but that doesn’t mean dirt isn’t hurt each time it’s stomped on.
Ok.. .
I’m ok, I wrote on page 29 of this book… I’m ok and “courage doesn’t roar” and it “whispers” for “tomorrow” (says Audrey), and, but I’m ok. I don’t need announcements this second because, in this second, I’m ok. And, every second counts, right?
Learning?
What I’ve learned is that we’re all good, deep down, we have to be, right? If we weren’t, how could the Earth breathe for so many cycles?
But, then, I look at the evidence and realize, no, maybe we all believe we’re good, and there’s the difference between being good and not. The difference is that our beliefs might be wrong. Are we humble enough to accept that?
Just Typing 