I write like a thunderstorm.
When I write, I access a depth of feeling that I didn’t know was or could be possible.
It just tumbles out of me.
When I write, I connect with— & feel— myself ever more deeply.
It gets to be easy.
I love with my whole heart.
I come home to who I am & who we are.
When I write, I am free.
When I write, I am me.
Home was always [in] you.
This piece is an ode to human nature.
It’s also an ode to slowing down.
And it’s an ode to coming together.
Literally. Proverbially. And otherwise.
Disparate threads, webs, of words.
Heart, soul, fire, feeling.
MY GIFT IS HERE.
MY GIFT IS HERE.
YOU SEE ME.
I FEEL YOU.
NOTHING HURTS.
It’s an ode to falling in love.
It’s an ode to laughing at my—our— greatness & gracelessness at the same fucking time.
It’s an ode to embracing who we really are.
What are you pretending to be available for that you aren’t available for?
BE HONEST WITH YOURSELF.
You have nothing to lose & everything to gain.
Lying to yourself only hurts you.
Lying to yourself only betrays you.
You feeling good matters too.*
*most, but I digress