Tyler

I miss him. I’m sure I always will. He is a part of me of me that has stood the test of time- a stone monument of my heart that I look to when I forget who I am or what I live for.  He reminds me of love in it’s purest form before expectations, and heartbreak, and walls and boobytraps were erected in the space only love should be.

He reminds me of what it was to feel alive. He takes me back to the sweet possibility of youth, 1520599_443631512433113_1206441568_nand the levity of dreams that only a 14-year-old girl can dream up of what the future holds.

Tyler, my first love, my guardian light, my forever friend, I feel you with me, now and always.

Thank you for bringing me back to me, again and again. The catharsis of tears that I so often have to lure out from hidden cavities within myself, with you, is always waiting patiently at the doorstep of your name.

Thank you for allowing me to feel the full spectrum of love, from it’s infancy to its maturity and thank you for giving me one of the greatest lessons I’m still learning- how to love and let go, and keep loving. How to give into the pain when I want none of it, and how to have nothing left to ask of you and only love to give.

You

What do I  want to write about? Truth-the taste of it. Dripping from salted, trembling lips-the kind that moves mountains within us. I want to talk about what It’s like to feel like you’ve hit “rock bottom” only to see the bottom is lined in golden foil and somehow light keeps getting into this darkened room that doesn’t quite live up to it’s reputation.

I don’t want to write about human perseverance, we eat that shit for breakfast. Every morning there is something in us that says “yes” to the mystery of it all. And so, we step into the day in unwavering devotion.

youIts more about what you do when you’ve had to fold. It’s what you do when everything seems to be telling you to STOP but the momentum for more, next, different, still swells in tsunami force within your quaking heart. It’s what you do to slow down long enough to count each line in the road, sometimes each crack in the pavement and trust that this will lead you, still blinded by the unknown.

I want to write about coming home. Coming home to your voice, your truth, and the echo of all that was and is no more. I want to write about coming home to you, only to realize that you’ve been “it” all along.