what’s wrong with falling in love, over and over again. Feeling finally that someone may love you. Maybe it’s foolish, and life doesn’t permit it. Maybe when the world speaks, it says, timing, or permission. But if I smell your perfume, and I look at you, and I see that your eyes are brimming with water because you’ve heard me, and then, for once I believe someone else, then I hold that close. I hold it close, I listen to it over and over, and maybe it’ll never happen. Maybe not, but I can thank you for making me feel in love, and loved, and like the door is still open.
There’s a city, and a village, a music, and a home, and a book, and love, across a great divide, but there is a bridge called faith, and called accident, that goes to the other side. On the other side we can hold hands in celebration, without shame, and we can drown in the fullness of those swells. The ocean maybe means forever, and it’s dark and tempestuous and huge. In the swells of the ocean everyone is drown, everyone goes under and is lost and taken away. So that fullness swells up from the inside and is; you know what it is.
We are before that ocean and before that bridge. We are in our bodies, we are in our words, and all of them work together for us, because it is possible, because we long for love, to be held up, to be held down, to be spoken to softly and sternly when the time is appropriate.
Because we see too deeply, we see into hearts, and hear the voices in chorus from the other side. We know that across that bridge is the happiness, is the relation, and that same feeling we hold privately in our hearts.
When I tug at you, when my hand drifts across your back, and your hand and your face, I am only trying to help you hear the voice across that bridge.
WOW! Did you buy new furniture? Looks good! I hope to come by again soon.
Those were taken when I first looked at the place. It’s nice stuff but it’s gone. It was great to see you, and that rambunctious little Tiva. Clearly she needs a father to put some discipline into her.