thirty-four

In this moment, there is nothing else to do.
There is no where else to go.
No where to hide; no where to run.

Any attempt to escape would brand me a hypocrite-
A chicken, a coward.

And so, with a deep breath-
I look forward,
And my sight follows the path
Until it ends abruptly at the cliff.

All I see is air- space.
All I hear is the wind- the emptiness.
But my heart believes in more, in You.

In the quiet before any action, I breath:
"I trust in You; I believe You are there."

I run; and at the edge I leap-

---

And the whole time, I've been safe in Your hands.

thirty-three

In this moment I envied her
And I passionately loved her.

---

Tears have been leaking out of her eyes for a while now. She sits still and quiet. Discreetly wiping away the tears from time to time. I don't blame her; and I certainly don't gawk. This is a safe space for those kinds of emotions; and if I had energy for tears, they would probably be streaming down my face as well.

My energy is used up by anger and resentment, by weariness.
I've got to save my resources; my emotions are hungry beasts.

And then, she snaps; and my attention is captured, my emotions forgotten. She cries out in anguish, the guilt and pain almost choking her ability to speak. She confesses. She cries. She unloads. She screams; and chokes on the release. Tears and snot cover her face- and she is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

I hear her.
My heart flops as it listens intently to the words behind the words; the meaning behind the meaning. I walk close to her and lay my hand on her knee. I talk to God and say, "ah, this beautiful soul follows You and loves You; and You already know how her path will continue on; and You already know how this event will be woven into her future. I will trust in Your promise that it will be for good."

I'm done.
She's done.
We embrace.
And I love her so much-
For her honesty, her courage, her release, her trust.

thirty-two

I think of you
And instantly I want to write
The desire wells within me
Is this a natural response
Or have I thought through the words
Of our story so many times
That I've programmed myself to think
In the content of plot and dialogue
In the dramatic pause of stolen glances
In the subtext sensation of a hug
In the heat of a static character becoming-
Dramatic.

I think of you
And want to write
And I thank you
For stirring that desire within me-
Even now.

thirty-one

She inhales deeply and is awed by the wild innocence of this scent. The spice is tender and clean; and provides a sharp memory- there is nothing else that smells like this, nothing else that pricks the olfactory nerves with this specific distinction: it is the perfect balance of fresh implusivity and timeless beauty. She purses her pink lips and kisses the edge of the scent; hoping that her offering of affection for such overwhelming loveliness is accepted and understood. In this moment, love is shared.
---
And as she nuzzles in close, she tries to be extremely careful- she loves the exchange, the freshness on her cheeks, the cool touch brushing against her hot lips; but it's no use. She knows that this exchange is a wholehearted, unconditional sacrifice- her nearness, her heat, her weight are a death sentence. And not immediately, but the proximity of her offering will bring brown into the bleach-whiteness of the current existence.
---
She is thankful for the selflessness of the others involved. That they are so willing to offer the exchange of love; to cheer her heart; to brighten her life- all at their own expense.