it scares me to know how far light can travel.
how stars billions of light years away
can die and yet still be seen on earth.

and it scares me that i can only hope
that the light i leave on the world,
lingers for as long as that.

or even

lingers at all.

there are moments in a climb
where you stop,
and put down the things you carry.

either to admire the view
or to let your lungs heal
from the constant ******* in of wind.

there are moments in life,
where we must stop,
and put down the things we carry.

either to admire the the view
or to heal the ache
of constantly living.

i got a paper cut
and i picked at it
until its corpse
become a permanent headstone
on my skin.

you hurt me,
and i picked at it
until it began to scar,
until it began to
tighten the skin.

i will never be able to escape the ache of you.
never be able to revive myself.
or be able to relieve the pain of the skin pulling.

but i will always try to heal it,
even if it is no use.

sometimes
the moments we steal
are not enough
to make us forget
that life is heavy.

sometimes
the moments we steal
are not enough
to make us fall in love
with life again.

life will offer smaller moments.

bite sized pieces of joy
meant for those who struggle to find the bigger ones.

like a piece of chocolate
our grandmothers
swear they will not give us
but surely will.

a person
at just the right time.

a book
that says just the right thing.

a song  
with the perfect melody.

or a film
with the right amount of humanity.

it’s the smaller things
that life gives us.

the smaller things
are the ones we must cling to.

let them love you this way:

with long drives to far away destinations
with the sole purpose of finding a beach
that feels right underfoot.

with car park crying
and laughing and debriefs
that echo long into the night.

with celebratory drinks
and pub feeds
and sometimes the odd fancy dinner.

with mid week check ins and soup left on door steps
messages of poems and songs that make them think of you
(i need you to know that you deserve to be thought of)

with hands soaked wet
by dishes you didn’t want to wash
and with blankets pulled up to chins.

let them love you this way.  
softly and in all the ways that count.
all they ways you haven’t been loved before.