a collection of memories

i can feel the words twisting inside me (untouchable inescapable) unable to leave me just another silent thought sentenced to a silent death.

what is the name of the left in the wake of loss; the emptiness of grief?

i've begun to realise that maybe the lingering grey amidst my head is not 'normal'. that the thought of everything i cannot do is the default setting, instead of everything i can- is like sailing a boat through stormy waters, like hiking up a hill on loose dirt: it is surviving in an environment already against you, but with effort and learned belief, i can rise to the challenge.

i've begun to realise that maybe the lingering grey amidst my head is not 'normal'. that the thought of everything i cannot do is the default setting, instead of everything i can- is like sailing a boat through stormy waters, like hiking up a hill on loose dirt: it is surviving in an environment already against you, but with effort and learned belief, i can rise to the challenge.

oh take me away from here,

I can feel the ache inside me gaping, growing, swallowing the bones and blood inside me. The expanding void in its wake: replacing flesh with broken words, and the remains of dreams eaten by a world called reality.

Language is alive. As alive as civilizations and the people and the lands they fill. One year, ten, decades, centuries Go by. And still, it remains. Ever-changing and adapting, stealing, molding, discarding. Language is a journey: changing, from one stop to the next, from generation to generation, continuing forever.

it is late. it is late, and you are lying in the night amidst the early darkness of autumn, and you are tired. tired of the endless doubt, tired of the lacking skill, tired of feeling every unattended moment, drilling anxiousness into you like the touch of falling rain. it is late, and you are tired.

we'll drift and we'll float until we rest at the bottom of the world.

You and I: we have found ourselves, in our journeys to make our way back to each other. In my quest to be brave I have found my edges, and strength, where I thought only lay weakness. The shape of my cowardice has shown me the path to compassion. In your search to find heart, you found inside yourself a light, that you had stopped believing you could carry. You took that light and let it shine. To carve paths in the dark that had once trapped you, and to guide others so they may stumble, but never be lost.

time is time (as love is love) as death is death it goes on. from dust the stars were formed each life, infinite and the space left behind. and so to dust they shall return and are remade again.

we are made of stars my love. and like stars, we will  s h i n e.