rough hands tipped then lowered the soaking chair to the hard wood and moved with a decisiveness not recognized. ringlets of moisture seeped memories from my skull, newness forming in the co-valence of two magnetic strangers.
i think this moment is when i knew, subconsciously accepted rather, that love is not a commodity traded for comfort. it took me a long time to work out how to apply this ideal in reality and i’m sure i broke and burned some arterial bridges along the way.
without spontaneity and singularity we are not whole.
if you want something, why would real love keep you from it?
this is my dirt. i am choosing to wear it as gold.
there is so much strength in this that i am jealous.
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