Shreds.

Every unturned rock within ourselves turned into a landmine for the other. we were trying to navigate through the explosions in real time. A hole within me became a bruising on you. A beating wound within you became scars on me.

Fire.

to ashes.

We burned.

Bonded

I look back at the pictures and at first I see so much joy, longing piecing into each other… then just below that, waves and knots of pain, unraveling down deep into Marianas Trench… and somehow we found a point of connection down there too. Hearing each other’s echos… maybe that’s where we comforted each other most. Both hoping that we descended further to the core of the earth where maybe true, unconditional love was as pure as heat is organic there… Maybe that’s where we thought we’d meet. If we could just swim through the darkness more. But when I heard and you heard me were always at different levels. Ships passing in the night down there. I guess how could we have met we were broken differently, healing different wounds, swimming in different patterns with not enough tools to bring us to a point of common ground, empathy.

Something I know for sure though is that if we didn’t find the healthiest of love, there was love there. Twisted and gnarled and sad but it was. And that connection will never be forgotten. It lives.

Messy humans

And for every moment I see that I was wrong do I color in another line in the drawing etching itself from my hand, almost as if to get free of me. I can’t separate the shapes and colors at first.. and while I try to make sense of it through my eyes, instead I hear it sing to me “… two insecurities don’t make a right.”

On a walk I noticed this tree and,

A morning walk in franklin park

Humans are like this tree and this tree is like life. Look to the branches. What do you see when you trace them? …Full of bumps and ugly twists, spots of beauty if that’s how you define it, dark holes and light bark, unpredictable twisty messiness, unfurling out into our own expansion when we simply follow the light and feel our roots. May we remember that we don’t have to be anything else, standing without apology like this tree.