06212015

in celebration of imperfection...

06182015

amidst the monumental fullness of life,

emptiness is a necessity.

she enters me, deeply.

we sit on the rim of communion,

emptiness and i.

she steals my voice,

gifting me with silence.

and when we part, i leave

fragments of me—softened by

the lushness of redemption—behind.

what quickening of the spirit we share!

nothing else will appease my hunger.

06142015

another unsent letter…

Dear R.,

I know nothing about you. Nothing… except that you are alone. 

I am confused about your aloneness. Your door is always slightly ajar… like an invitation. An invitation that no one dares to heed. Do you keep your door that way with a purpose in mind? Or is that an unconscious cry for connection on your part? Do you know the answers to any of these questions? I don’t. I only know one thing with all certainty. You bewitch me.

My thoughts of you are sugarcoated with curiosity and fascination. Yet, I dare not approach that door. Every time I try, I feel as though I am about to invade a holy shrine. The air is thick and heavy around it, and I am held outside as if by invisible hands. Outside. At the perimeter of that door. At the perimeter of you. And I am beholden to the single framed photograph of a little girl that sits on your desk. 

The girl is no older than eight. She is dressed in a lemon yellow Hello Kitty dress and matching flipflops. She is standing on a beach and waving at the camera, proudly displaying her jack-o-lantern smile while the waves crash around her. Her straight black hair is spread around her face like a fan. Who is she? 

I want to walk closer to the photo and capture the full details. I want to. I won’t. Mine is an ambiguous curiosity tinted with the shame of knowing I am not entitled. I will guard my secret like a relic.

But… tell me, now...

Do you feel the probe of my enquiring gaze? 

Does my interest unnerve you? 

Are you undone by it all?

Do you ever wonder what I want from you?

Do not ask the question.

I will not tell.

Fondly,

N.

06132015

saturday.

the sky calls.

the clouds congregate.

the morning bites its thumb at me.

i smile inwardly and bite my thumb back.

there is no need for this false show of assertiveness.

the air smells of oxygen and grass.

my lips are dry with longing.

i am a flower...

ducking the hollowness of the past,

feeding on the grandeur of the future,

traveling within the briefness of now,

my ears crammed with stories,

my spirit trimmed with light.