welcome, friend.

Undersanding is prompt, she’s almost always on time. She arrives early tonight with her best friend Empathy. 

Understanding is a sweet girl, about 5’3”, slender, with eyes deeper than the Atlantic; there’s a feeling that accompanies her embrace, like being cradled in a thousand feathered pillows. 

That’s why her and Empathy get along so well. 

Empathy carries herself much like Understanding, except if you look closely, her shoulders hang a smidge lower than Understandings. And her eyes, oh her eyes, they are the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen—yet if you hold her stare long enough, you’ll start to feel a sense of heaviness, but also release—almost like a good cry. There’s nothing quite like it. Underneath, I can tell Empathy has a secret, but the only one she confides in is Anger. 

You’ve got to watch out for that one. To call Anger “quick-tempered” would be a compliment. She’s really a hot-head, just the slightest thing will set her off. Yet, Empathy has a way of talking to her—a way that only Empathy can. 

Another thing about Anger is that she’s always late. I don’t get it though because she comes early to other people’s parties, but never mine. To mine, she always comes in late and a little bit tipsy—and every time she blames it on Empathy. 

Sometimes I worry about those two, but that’s really Anxiety’s job, isn’t it? Anxiety comes in, always in a hurry. It’s a party and she can’t seem to let loose for one minute.  Every time we get together she barges right in and sits down next to Hopelessness and starts to talk his ear off. Half the time I can’t even keep up with what she is saying, the girls never shuts up. The saddest part is that Hopelessness is too lazy to get up, so he’s stuck listening to Anxiety ramble on about things that will never happen. I just watch from afar as the two converse, it’s a conversation not even worth trying to eavesdrop. 

By this time everyone has gotten comfortable together, so I sit back and marvel at the company in front of me.  Feelings of pride and contentment rest in my chest as I welcome the company I keep. It’s only then that Abandonment comes to join me. 

He noticed that I’m alone and thought he’d join me in the silence—my silence—after all, it’s my party, I deserve a little time away from entertaining. 

How can you not see?

The words you never stripped from your vocabulary that so easily slip out over Sunday dinner? Words that cut so deep I swear sometimes I could see bone.

Why can’t you see?

Hateful rhetoric that is overly justified, and caught with a stare that ends with, “that’s not how I meant it?”

Why can’t you see?

That your babies and grand-babies hang on your every word, what kind of legacy will you leave? I have more questions than answers here. But I hope that they see you as just, and empathetic, always willing to see the other side of the story—acknowledging that there is another side of the story.

But can’t you see the hurt on their faces?

The confusion when they find out that you aren’t who they thought you were, that your empathy might end with them and the rest of the world isn’t any of your business—or worse, it is.

Do you care what they will say about you?

That you loved them, but…

Empathy is still empathy when she drew boundaries around her life.

I’m tired

but not in a way that sleep can help

I’m tired of moving so fast

No.  I’m tired of thinking I have to move so fast

too anxious to stop 

and think..

just think..

and be..

without judgement of myself

see, that’s the thing

there’s this bully that lives inside of me

she tells me that I don’t do enough

I’m only worth what I can do for the world

but it’s not true

I know I am worth it and I know my value

I just wish someone would tell her..

Or..

Quite literally, but as my legs grow weary—you’re still in my mind

Could I not find a more artistic way to express myself?

Rather than stanzas of complaining through words I rarely let people read?

I envy painters and how they can keep a steady hand and show you everything they feel about their subject without saying a word

I envy writers of fiction, creating characters that feel as real as me and you—yet their lives live and die on a page.

I envy famous bloggers, having people rave over your work and your insights on life—such knowledge and such success.

...tonight...

...feels too far

...I long for a touch, even just your hand on my shoulder would suffice, to know and to feel what is uniquely ours

...the weeks fly by, but the days drag on as I wait patiently to be in your arms again

...the nights feel colder, but my heart burns with the warmth you provide

...you’ve given me the gift of feeling loved and knowing my own love, you gave me the permission I needed to give myself

...to live free, to let go, to move forward into a healthy and love-soaked direction, for myself

...your love is a love that makes time disappear and keeps hope’s flame burning bright

oh....yeah....

..and...

someone to laugh at your jokes and sit with you when the grief sets in.

I hope you find someone who will ride for you—

someone who understands you and shares a similar worldview.

But more than that..

I hope you find someone you can let yourself be open with.

I hope you don’t let the pain sit so deep in your chest, I’m sorry.

I hope you find someone that will help you up when you’re down and will carry your burdens when it all feels like too much.

I hope you find someone you can really talk to, someone that makes sense in all the right ways and challenges you—but is also quick to give grace.

And even more than that..

I hope you are always growing, always hoping, and always wanting the best in yourself and others.

I hope you know there are people that love you nd I hope you never stop striving to be all you can be for yourself and for them.

I hope you can become the person you want to be.

If you’re ever at a loss for words, you can borrow some from me—

because your love busts my heart wide open, in ways only you can see—

around every corner, across every bend, it’s there that you’ll find my love, never rushing, always waiting—

Just in time to warm your bones

deep blue sky, the smell of rain and sweet magnolias

I grow from the fertile soil this land provides