For My Love
I have seen you. Raising heaven. Steaming with fever, furious with uncertainty. Shaking the twigs and dust of the wilderness out of your pressed trousers.
I have felt you. On balmy summer nights lightened only by a bitchy, teasing breeze. Dreamt petal soft and rose pink, settled in but always ascending. Under and over me, wedged between your hope and my passion, polished bright brown by twilight and laughter.
I have waited for you. In the lying arms of others, rocking apologetic babies to sleep. I squared up like a street soldier, ready to smash the shadows, but instead took them back to season the reasons I stayed.
I have killed for you. Murdered and exorcized a force destined to fail. Gutted a ghost blindfolded because you came; bearing my breath, shaming death for thinking you would lose.
I have died for you. Laid face down in disgrace before the fools who raised and debased me. Bones stripped of marrow, offering what done wasted. Shed my heart, my hair and my hell, just to be your baby.
Life is fragile. Fragile and cruel and unjust. A moment’s hesitation, a gut feeling, a mistake, even a signature can change your path forever. I believe this to be true. But this truth does not feel liberating or redemptive. It incites fear and hesitation, two of my least favorite things. They’re toxic and cunning. It’s ironic that in our pursuit to create and maintain “a good life,” fear and hesitation keep us from experiencing life. Actually experiencing life. Tasting it, breathing it in our lungs to feed our fractured hearts. Our hungry, misfit hearts wrapped in unfounded hope and the false promises of sitcoms.
Each heart connects to another, all the others. All beating, in a reliable cadence, as predictable as the second hand of a classroom clock. Each beat, faint or pounding, drives the rotation of this wicked earth. Your participation in this world dictates its fate. So live your life. Rid your heart of hesitation. Use each beat of your heart to flood this world with your gifts. For there is no cure for a life unlived. But there is peace for those who empty their passion into those around them.
Upon my exit, my deepest desire is to have left the best pieces of myself with those I loved and especially those who weren’t sure if I really loved them back. Hope I pass on some hope; my enduring tendency to search desperately for the good, the dimmest glimmer of God’s promises. That is absolutely ALL that keeps me going sometimes. That, and vodka.
Those who dances were thought to be quite insane by those who could not hear the music
So dance, lovies.