She loved him.
She loved him with a fierce, fierce love. For all of his light and all of his dark and lovely pieces, for the fire he lit in her body and for every glorious desire he helped her remember, that she felt in her breath and her bones, for his voice in the night and for every whisper I Love You.
And it was love, and it was a healing, and it was real – but despite her deepest desire to make it so
he just could not be near enough for her.
And so she pointed her dream in another direction because she knows that somewhere there is a love who speaks, like her, in poetry and stardust.
Who tastes like nectar and salt and home.
Who loves her urgently because she is luminous, because she burns down and rises up and holds captive the pulse of the world.
A love who will stand in the center of the fire with her and not shrink back.
Who is not afraid to touch her too deeply for fear of staining his hands on her light and who wants to be inside her darkest everything.
A love whose hands are big enough to hold all of her.
And that lover, when she finds him,
will see her,
and know her,
and want her --
just as she is and just as she should be.
And he will say,
Yes. Yes, you. I will go there with you. I have been waiting for this.
~ Inspired by RebelleSociety, Freda Kahlo, Oriah Mountain Dreamer, and Hungry Moon
Five of my favorite things: 1: beautiful aesthetic – think Italian linen, French laundry tables, three dozen sunset shades of peonies. . . / 2: the smell of my children’s heads / 3: gastronomy – the art of badass food / 4: earl grey tea with milk and honey / 5 : the Mediterranean Sea