pass

On those days you can't bring yourself to speak. To push words out of your mouth would be betraying your own being. Breaking your own silence would be letting a part of you out. escape. You need every little bit of you just to keep yourself together.

When the thought of getting up out of your seat is frightening. When you would rather sit for an hour than wonder hopelessly about the house with a heavy feeling of lost in your stomach. That feeling of not wanting to be anywhere, knowing that is impossible, and waiting for it to pass. 


You will process the grief from the lost sunshine when you can find room for it in your lap. There are no tears, just a body weighed down by every primary emotion mixed in to make brown.

On those days, I will arch my back and speak up, not out.  So that my words rain back down to earth and settle on you.  Soak into your skin.  Words of love and hope and truth.

Then wait.  I can wait.

rubber stamp

The danger is in believing this is all there is.  Projecting a ‘copy, paste, repeat’ view of the future.  Giving into the darkness.  Losing sight of the day.