Maybe it'll never happen again,
maybe it was a one-time exclusive.
It's not fear, exactly,
but feeling alive and present is nice.
I'll take it when I get it.
Run with the sensation and treasure it near.
Thank you, kind stranger.
For opening and sharing and spreading yourself
in my life, on my soul.
Perhaps it's worth it to grieve and celebrate all at once.
For sensing greater possibility reveals the chance for loss
and nothingness, but also everything.
Life can be everything and nothing.
Embracing each and every nook and cranny,
I want you and it and all of it.
The fudge and nights of cleaning
and late night teas and coffees.
Agency and will to do as I might,
hope as I might.
I'm grateful, all the same.
Watching the ebbs and flows,
writing just because, just for me.
Doing laundry and staying occupied.
Not sure of the best sleep schedule or bed time.
Last night I fell asleep after midnight and woke up on time anyhow,
hardly any rhyme or reason to it all.
Perhaps I could exercise, get my body fit and trim.
I find inspiration in that stranger,
full of dreams and aspirations and bodily quarrels.
I know it's not for me to focus on others
and I don't intend to, not now.
For if it's not this one, it's another.
The only one I'm left with is myself.
The comfort and love and dream about,
to pleasure and charm and not able to live without.
Let this yearning and fantasizing become nothing more
than that. Just here and now. Taking it as it is.
It is.
It is as it is as it is.
My heart grows stronger the longer I'm away from you
and you're no longer part of my life and psyche.
Broke it. Broke it all. We broke it and you broke it and I broke it.
Broke it. The gift and box and darkness and light and love.
Left it to wilt and die. And die it did.
And growing again, I am.
Growing and giving and living
and dreaming of more than now. More than ever.
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