June 19, 2017 by Moony
I can’t enjoy time when the last moments of it are spent broken. The seconds ticking until I have to watch him leave again, hours away and we get no relief. When I can’t enjoy love because I have to worry about what others will say it is. Can’t let hearts intertwine. Can’t let myself be free to express the inexpressible feelings and words my heart and mind so adamantly know, can’t show how much each fraction of a second means to be in person, IRL.
I ache to say what I mean out of a poetic view but I know once the words are said it will mean I am wrong, I am dirty, I am stained. But those stains to me feel like the Venetian glass that was lovingly made, crafted from small, insignificant pieces into art, into its fullness. Each part thought of, cared for by its artist.
In a world where secrets hide in the darker places so that the light shines a glaringly false white, my shame doesn’t feel like it. These promises don’t feel like anything more than a flickering candle leading me home, a warm hearth to brighten the room, and a safe light leading me and keeping me home.