How many times do we stop and start the things we love? As if there is an undefinable amount of lives. What if this is all we’ve got? We deny loving years and yes I dwell in these miseries. Perhaps I enjoy the shadows, there is a fire I light in those dark spaces that says, I like contemplation.
Is love about the boy girl, girl boy back and forth chase of story tells? I want a different sort of love, the kind that collides with hands reaching. Love is not just going on date nights and smiling kisses. There are those moments, so many silent enjoyments. Yes of course, if there is someone that makes me stand still long enough to hold then I am on board.
But I will not accept love for the sake that I am a girl who is told to find my glue. The grounding. Perhaps I am meant to be: free. Why is that so wrong? I can hold my own door, and cover my own tab, and those walks under the moon they are just as brilliant when I am happy and when I am sad. Beauty and love lives within our tries.