In the thick of it all; feels like sweet black tar and the inside of a honey comb - patterned, structured and forgiving. The day feels hopeful. Thunderstorms are here - dusty raindrops, crystal teardrops, they're all the same. Liquid truth, the kind of truth that's ineffable - and yet, undeniable. The sincerity behind the seas in our eyes when our waves of aggravation meet - this water that keeps me and you glued. Sacred and stained.
Gumdrops - sunsets of orange, purple and blue. Happiness - the kind of scent that stays on the nape of his neck even after therapeutic sweat has dried. Her hands cut through the wind -- action and more action. He coaches. She runs. This is the redemption of the "we" tucked fragile within me and you. An understated, subtle pink hue - matured, taking its time to come to. Maybe they confuse us as faded - maybe it's all true.
Acts of kindness rubbing out the foggy bitterness behind those rose-colored glasses we're given, then taken, then given. Torturous and electric.
My love for finding the depth of you has never died. I had a thought today that maybe the soulmate I have been searching for all along is flowing through my bloodstream. A concrete, jungle mixture of my ancestors, and me.
I think this could all be true.
I think that truth is a utility we decide to take on, and if it is not useful we should discard its contents, revise, update and begin brand new. There's no use in alt + escape+deleting more and more of our time -- erecting lofty concepts - if they can't be used.
If our mental-stream-utilities (our ideas!) do not bridge the dark + light spaces between me and you, I.am.simply.unamused.
This is stream of consciousnesses. This was unprepared. This was everything it ever needed to be. Bold, courageous and fear-free.
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