I do want not be the wistful cigar of nostalgia, melancholy and longing that you only want to smoke when the tendrils of curiosity and desire tug at your heartstrings.
I do not wish be the thought that invades your senses like so much smoke after a long drag on that cigar.
There is too much life in this body, in this blood, in the ever beating heart of purpose that is contained within me, to be relegated to just being a recreational escape for you.
Actions undone speak louder than anything else.
The whispering tendrils of denial, doubt and despair, the beautiful trinity of insecurity, found a chink in the armor and wormed their way deeper and deeper into what has become the slowly rotting wood of your spirit.
I need authenticity and people in my life who live and love so fearlessly that it takes their breath away….and you are scared to death to even breathe.
The folly of time, fought and re-fought no longer holds sway.
It either is, or it is not.
‘Some are born to sweet delight,
Some are born to endless night*.’
Constantly navigating between the myriad of stars
and the sweet delight and endless night that dually reside in my universe. The swirling pools and eddies of circumstances and choices, possibilities and eventualities are constantly converging, dissipating, re-converging and creating new realities.
No delineation exists; there is no light without the dark.
In the darkness, life pulsates and throbs, beating to a different rhythm.
I imagine there is a viscous amber fluidity in the in between spaces that carries the heft of potential.
I call that home.