my poems have
seemed sad recently,
some mellow ache creeping
into the corners of november.
like a number from a clock
i take a moment now to
tell you of the brightness.
to tell you of the warmth.
i guess it’s difficult to explain or describe. like sitting in the sun and knowing you are slowly more golden, i sit in god’s gaze and feel myself turn golden. coloured the shade of true love. if there was a finite meaning or amount of love it was mine. if there was infinite, it was also mine.
i sat alone on a train and watched the sunrise; bad weather, good heart. clean heart. i read a book. listened to music. tilted my phone at an odd angle to keep it charging. told the girl sat opposite me that her drawing was beautiful. 7 am and i am in a place i don’t know all that well, but i am safe in the gaze of the sun.
i have pondered september and october and november. december jumps up into my lap and falls asleep like a small animal. how endearing. girlhood seems to be ending. if not that, something else. perhaps uncertainty and discomfort. perhaps suffering. perhaps punishment. perhaps exhaustion. was this girlhood? or does that begin now? in sleepy eyes and wistful promises and light hearts and toast with cinnamon and butter and softness, kindness, beauty.
something in my heart solidifies, as if i am suddenly sure of things that were not there before. i have endless love letters for her. i brush her hair, take care of her like my child. my girl.
nostalgia is suffering to return. nostalgic for who i was once. nostalgic when i look at the stars. nostalgia without suffering; kindness to return, kindness to progress to move to ache to love to be.
i would share all my stories if it wasn’t confession. i would share without asking for salvation. i would share and you would know the story, know the ending. primordial and predestined, i find joy in my own tired hands. prewritten: i have always been this happy, i will always be this happy.
in absence, i am this joyful.
in rain, i am even more joyful; a watered flower.
indefinitely - to an unlimited extent -
i have kindness for the girl in the mirror.
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