I won’t have make up on
I’ll probably be wearing my glasses
you probably won’t notice me
till the third time we talk
the way you
I might be the first one to
ask you out
you might be
the first one
to say yes
Love liberates. It doesn’t bind. Love says, ‘I love you. I love you if you’re in China. I love you if you’re across town. I love you if you’re in Harlem. I love you. I would like to be near you. I’d like to have your arms around me. I’d like to hear your voice in my ear. But that’s not possible now, so I love you. Go. – Maya Angelou
does it matter that you can feel the warmth of the sunlight on your shoulders, the salty sea breeze in your hair, and at the same time, see the storm clouds up ahead?
does it matter that the sea holds immense sadness in its depths, and yet at the same time reflects the joy of the sun in the glinting rhythm of waves?
do these things matter? do they have a place in business? in finance? amongst skyscrapers? alongside ships that carry cargo from one place to the next?
can someone say that it is okay to honor the new and mourn the lost all in the same moment? all in the same day. can someone shout this from the rooftops and whisper it in the shadows? instead of this. this silence. this, unspoken name. this covering up with words of new.
can someone tell the masses, “it is okay to not be okay on this day.” or even the next.
it is o.k.
it is okay.
it is ok to not live in the binary. in the ‘either or’ but to let things co-exist, mash, intertwine. mix.
binary is not how it always is anyways.
it’s not how it ever was.
a sign of time, of leftover loves, a signal that shifts the tectonic plates of chasms we thought had once been properly stitched up
only to wander upon them and find, they’d just been laid dormant
the roundest, warmest salt water tear rolled out, we let it commemorate
remembrance, a battle scar, a battle cry
one hundred and four years later, still eruptions
signs of love, of loss
a simple excuse for our defeat, and a victorious reason for our persistence, to love deeper, to love wider, to love more consistently
“to go to the places that challenge who we think we want to become”
toddlers laughing in puddles,
a plethora of perfect circle giggles.
musical notes bursting into perfectly timed half-fireworks, meeting free-fall’s end for the first time,
song lit up by moving headlights, car horns singing their harmony.
cotton candy gumdrops waking up for the dawn,
a slow float and tumble off the potted plants in the window sill.
morning on a soft day,
a faint greeting with misty kisses and dew-drop hugs.
a quiet “I love you” from the earth that slipped in past the city.
We have a way of adorning the Davids after they’ve conquered their Giant, caramelizing them story after story, with awe and roars.
But before they are conquerors, we take sharp needles to their dreams, knitting fear and “likelihoods” of “success” to their socks, pushing our own definition of life into the souls of their feet, lest they take a different step than us.
We’ve worn our own fear far too long.
This yarn burrows so deep into us we forget that it was once blood that pumped through our veins, and not these puppet strings.
But we are human and not toy. We are love that unravels away all threads. We are re-knit garments of protection for the ones before they are conquerors.
For ourselves, before we are conquerors.
We are tapestries vibrant in fullness, vast in freedom, rich in unconventionality, and ever-unraveling into unthinkable lives.