the persistence of yellow

There is a season for wildness and a season for settledness, and this is neither. This season is about becoming.

The most intimate thing we can do is to allow people we love most see us at our worst. At our lowest. At our weakest. True intimacy happens when nothing is perfect.

She was fascinated with words. To her, words were things of beauty, each like a magical powder or potion that could be combined with other words to create powerful spells.

May the wind under your wings bear you where the sun sails and the moon walks.

I enjoy controlled loneliness. I like wandering around the city alone. I’m not afraid of coming back to an empty flat and lying down in an empty bed. I’m afraid of having no one to miss, of having no one to love.

I would have told Hosea to leave her. No one should have to hold on, I’d say, to a heart that doesn’t want them back. No one deserves a straying soul, a fleeting kiss, someone who devotes themselves more to the dirt than ever to him. There are better woman with less stains on their clothes, I’d convince him, they will love you like you deserve. You shouldn’t have to crucify your sainthood for the sake of her. I would have told Hosea to leave her. But I’m glad he wouldn’t have listened. Because, how many times have I deserved to be forsaken? How long have I fought off my destiny of being loved unconditionally? Since my first breath, born with clenched fists, I’ve lived half in the shadows, half in my idols, half in the worth I find by giving myself away to temporary places. How many times have I been an imperfect bride? I’m a goner, I’m Gomer, and I would have left me a long time ago. But instead of moving on, God never did, for His grace covers me more than my mistakes ever could.

In the right light, at the right time, everything is extraordinary.

Wish not so much to live long as to live well.