There was an old picture of me.
Fresh high school graduate.
Long black hair, a naivety worn smile.
Earth brown eyes that have yet to grace the adventures the world will soon prevail.
So young.
The product of a mother's tender loving care
Embodied immaturity before the
Outside forces penetrated the weak membrane.

What was thought to be inevitable
Suddenly became evitable.
The potentialities all there in that small delicate frame  and pink lips, sometimes closed tight, sometimes open to those who dare cross her.
Rationality crumbled beneath her.
And suddenly this march of destiny became a sprint towards a bewildering number of paths ahead.

I peer up from the frayed graphic.
Realizing all that had fallen had fell within reason, no need to grasp.
It made space for the warm sap of passionate emotions pump through me.
Once a demure, reserved, lackluster child
Is now one who holds her head sky high
with a cool whirl of clear confidence.

You are the artist.

The canvas represents your life & it's renewed daily.
The brush in your hand is in your servitude.
The current reality and your dreams embellish the nudeness with an array of pleasing colors.
While you refuse to surrender to the gravity of others trying to push your paintbrush the other way.

You have a clear vision.

Lock eyes with life with a fierce burning passion
And don't lose sight with it
Or let a second of it waste away -
Before the silver cord is cut and the golden bowl is broken.

You're fearless.

Your head will pound.
Your arms and legs will tire.
But let this fire warm the blood coursing through your veins
Power you to reaching the shimmering stars
That taunt you at the end of this arduous path.

You will live life to its fullest capacity.

When looking in retrospect
Realize that these moments are counted
Not in how many breaths you took
But in the number of moments that did take your breath away.

Suspended in the rays of sunshine,
Cloaked by the warm summer air,
And the cool soothing melodies from the nearby river,
The future was exhausted, running rapidly through my mind.
****** it seemed,
Gazing into the stark silhouettes of the trees &
Dozing into the eventualities of what might lead to those lips for that kiss of the year -
Appearing like a blurry image,
Rippling in the river of uncertainties:
Unclear but the possibilities are somewhat grasped.
I uncross my legs deliberately with the faint realization that I have been day dreaming for the nth time today.

Impacts mold, shape, shift a person like clay.

Each and one of us are the sum of impacts.
How we walk, talk, and carry our heads
Are made up of fractions of all the impacts
Gifted by those who simply exist in our world.

Moments, life is full of it, some so strong it changes your lives forever.

Pivoting moments make a stich of a fabric in which a lifetime of stitches produce a masterpiece - a woven piece of what it's suppose to be.
Each masterpiece special and unique in its own way.

Moments of impact create quality.

It doesn't matter the duration of a moment.
What matters are the feelings felt.
The electricity between our fingertips.
The taste of sweet wine.
Smell of salt water.
The sight of eagerness.

Impacts and moments -- does not fail to make anyone a unique story to be told.

Scribbled on napkins,
A relic from that evening,
Memory of the words
Drawled on like the sun setting.

With a gander,
I momentarily lived in the
Earthy brown worlds of her eyes
Resplendent against the orange sheen of the sun.

Reality barked.
It still rings in my ears.
A resonating pain
From a missed memory.

Can time cease to exist?
Just for once.

But the ticks of the clock resists.
There's so many moments
That I want to last longer
Then the taste that lingers on my lips,
Like when she walks ahead
And I watch the mesmerizing movements of her hips.
The dim lit room that shows the silhouette of her beckoning hand
That sparks fireworks in my head
Revealing reality is better than my dreams instead.

Why can't time cease?
Just for once.