Posts in PROSE
a gratitude:
  • for my able mind

  • for my body and its kindness towards me

  • for the people i’ve loved

  • for the people who’ve loved me

  • for my father and his selflessness

  • for my mother and her strength

  • for my siblings and the unique bond we share

  • for the sun being out this morning

  • for cappuccinos and this magical place

  • for books, for words, for language, for experience

  • for the mess and all it taught me

  • for music and the way it allows me to express myself

  • for music and the way it connects us

  • for music with no qualifiers

  • for cars and the open road

  • for mountain-driving and driving into my hometown

  • for children and all they teach us to forget

  • for the elderly and all they teach us to remember

  • wrinkled hands and smile lines

  • for laughter you can’t hold back

  • for tears you can’t hold back

  • for every moment that led to this moment

  • for inhale

  • for exhale

  • for room to breathe

What does the silence say?

What does the silence say? Is the whole story the compilation of things we allow to come off our lips and the things we don’t? We’ll never know them—never know the details left missing and why. What are the options not chosen and why were they not taken? I know my own silences with intimacy and still don’t often know their origins. Are the thoughts left out moving around at a lower volume? Did I turn them down or did they enter my head that way—softly?


And it's like a seed bursting disastrously open in the hopes that something comes out of it. Maybe it can be the tree it's been told it is on the inside--as comically far-fetched as it feels to dream of tall, sky-gracing branches while buried underground. It is dirty and messy and dark. It will take hard work and miracles. It is everything inside you waiting for the rain. It is everything inside you reaching for the sun. But it is possible, friend. It is possible.