Dear You,
I didn't want to run out of words. I wouldn't want to. So I dream of strangers and places and black, iron bars and the air around me is moist with ache that is not mine, that does not belong to me. And of all the words I could stutter, I can only think of it as kaleidoscopic. Kaleidoscopic ache. And when I dream of strangers wrapped in white, I feed them loneliness on their creaking floorboards. I feed them, I break them down, I give them a momentary spark of peace and take it away from them. But they have lives of their own, my dreams. Some vivid, some blurred by the intensity of not-knowing but wanting to know. They are alive as I am.
And there is something else. There is much peace in surrender. Because you float back down to the surface, landing lightly on your feet and there's nothing quite like it when you've put up a good fight and landed on a shore with the skies waiting on it's edges, of pearly white sand and nothing but the waves quietly letting go off the shore again and again in remorse for what you have done. And you smile a smile of madness and you walk away, staggering in ragged trousers and ripped off Tees. And there is nothing there to greet you, just the horizon while you walk. Because to winners belong shining lights and glamour, to losers belong sympathy and pity, to give uppers belongs a strangely peaceful and quite walk, and whispers speaking not to you, but about you.
Let me be, then. Let me stay and walk around on silent, unknown streets that have recycled Life. I want to belong. Just like everybody else. So if this is not my place, then let it be as well. God gave me strength to wander and if I cannot belong to places, I'll let places belong to me. I rise and I fall and I? I am for myself. Just like everybody else. Because I can be alright if I want to be. I will be alright.
And courage is from God, and I will ask for courage. And for Courage? I am infinitely grateful. I am infinitely blessed.
Love,
Me.
I didn't want to run out of words. I wouldn't want to. So I dream of strangers and places and black, iron bars and the air around me is moist with ache that is not mine, that does not belong to me. And of all the words I could stutter, I can only think of it as kaleidoscopic. Kaleidoscopic ache. And when I dream of strangers wrapped in white, I feed them loneliness on their creaking floorboards. I feed them, I break them down, I give them a momentary spark of peace and take it away from them. But they have lives of their own, my dreams. Some vivid, some blurred by the intensity of not-knowing but wanting to know. They are alive as I am.
And there is something else. There is much peace in surrender. Because you float back down to the surface, landing lightly on your feet and there's nothing quite like it when you've put up a good fight and landed on a shore with the skies waiting on it's edges, of pearly white sand and nothing but the waves quietly letting go off the shore again and again in remorse for what you have done. And you smile a smile of madness and you walk away, staggering in ragged trousers and ripped off Tees. And there is nothing there to greet you, just the horizon while you walk. Because to winners belong shining lights and glamour, to losers belong sympathy and pity, to give uppers belongs a strangely peaceful and quite walk, and whispers speaking not to you, but about you.
Let me be, then. Let me stay and walk around on silent, unknown streets that have recycled Life. I want to belong. Just like everybody else. So if this is not my place, then let it be as well. God gave me strength to wander and if I cannot belong to places, I'll let places belong to me. I rise and I fall and I? I am for myself. Just like everybody else. Because I can be alright if I want to be. I will be alright.
And courage is from God, and I will ask for courage. And for Courage? I am infinitely grateful. I am infinitely blessed.
Love,
Me.
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