this one’s for you.
I see you, though we’ve never met. feel your heart beside mine, our ribs knotted, tangled together, though our bodies do not touch.
for you — my dear, my love — I write. for you, I breathe.
I know you, for I am the same as you.
hands extended, reaching wide for adventure, for meaning, for love.
oh, for love!
for love, you cup your palms and offer everything, everything. fingers spread, longing for experience, new soil and sand, the skin of a stranger, warm candles lit and cradled in glass jars, grass that grows tall, wild, mountain air, the bees, the flowers, the earth humming under her breath.
you reach out for wonder, for feeling, for emotions. the strange ones, the kind that curl up in your belly, sour slightly, and you can’t tell if you love them, or if you hate them, so you linger just a bit longer.
spirit swaying; face soft.
this one’s for you. you, who rejoices in slow, beautiful things. in the rising of bread, the simmering of broth; in the subtle transition from dawn, to day, to dusk; in the collection of drops on the morning window.
this place. these words. this heart.
can you feel me here? close your eyes. drop your shoulders. inhale, and I will exhale. allow your chest to open, your heart to soften, the corners of your mouth to curl up.
here, I see you. not the flaws, the ever-elusive dreams abandoned, the dust, the cracks, the stains. but your sameness. your essence.
I see you — and I love you, just as you are.
right here, right now. you’re free. tear yourself open. sew yourself shut. expand, recoil. explode. feel everything, or nothing, all at once.
to you, welcome home.
the light in me honors the light in you. namaste.