It is a funny thing trying to let go of something as sweet and sticky as honey…
At first you want to rid your fingers free of it but rather than rinsing them you bring each appendage to your lips…
Extending your tongue and tasting the mellifluous liquid… becoming lost in its ability to surrender your motion…
giving you moments to think, to remember… to enjoy your now is a present, remembering your presents is a gift…
Be the flower to the bumble bee.
What is this hush and its layered textures?
Humbling sounds of walking alone folding unto themselves to reveal the deepest need to understand… and with not a moments rest, we continue on…
Journeys through what seems like endless days and eternal nights with no knowledge of when all of this began nor possess the image of when it will come to an end…
In the between we can see:
The times smiles graced our faces and those when we cried where the tears tanned our cheeks…
Moments when he had the courage to love and those where are broken hearts built walls around themselves so not to be hurt once more…
Which lead to the most intimate junctures of solitude… and those gnashing feelings of guilt for wanting to be alone, but not without those feelings of wanting to be…
We see the past and make it present and give these gifts to ourselves…
Yet we cannot see everything… our gifts are imperfect…
But if you are reading this, then you can see… which means you can breathe… which means you are alive…
That hushed silence… is the calming of the soul…
When you have no answers but peace has become you… your mind is drawn blank, but your heart is full…
Be faithful that you are being watched every step of your way…
pjwritings.com 