I hold onto the hope that someday I will see them. Those lights drug across the sky by a goddess with her water colour brush. Greens and blues and pinks that dance a star's song into being while the sky stretches and wakes up and prepares to host this fit of brilliance. When people down below lift their eyes to the heavens. Irises are filled and reflect a dazzling champagne of pastels which God has created. He wants to say 'I love you' and could think of no better way than this expression. Where snow gives way to reflective ice and the shiny sparkles slide silently through the night. It is the visual of the heart when in love, and it lights up the night like the first beautiful moment of a stage being brought to life. The conductor lifts his hands and a radiant explosion surrounds the audience. Music is not needed and none will ever accurately describe it. Few will see this spectacularity because the auroras only reveal themselves to the minds that wander and the hands that reach towards heaven.
a. we are the wild youth.
with lungs full of ocean water and ribs stained red with sunsets and roses
b. we have lilacs and honey dripping from our frozen fingertips
with watermelon smiles and candle wax eyes, we pull at our star dusted skin
and howl to the moon.
c. and with heads full of midnight and our veins swimming in twilight,
we dream our big dreams and pull down the stars, begging for our wishes to
There's something about walking away... Head held high and you sigh as your tears have been dried and the colourful in your cheeks and lips gets pinker. Nobody could have told you what to do because they aren't you. And what once felt so right and perfect now is clearer and less of a blur. If you had kept going the picture would only have been a smudge on the wall of your room, causing the drywall to crack and then grey. It's the colour of those hours blocked out to exert energy then crash as if you've just had the emotions sucked out of your fingers and toes. Maybe it would have been remedied with some growing or a little water and sun. But boys need more than water and sun to bloom. The soil was just too authoritarian and your wise words were in a language all to unfamiliar and confusing to decode. But for him, nothing could be done if it wasn't for him. So you kiss that hand goodbye and simultaneously let go as it is jerked away. And as you are walking away, you are walking into a cool breeze and a sunny day with a brisk sun and soft grass and happy voices ready to welcome you in the distance. And it is less walking away than walking to something brand new. You're being welcomed.
It's so old, and the beauty of a hundred years of happy memories and lives lived to the fullest is seeped into the dark and creaking wood beams of this home. In the fireplace crackles a soft warmth that keeps the bitter cold at bay from this room. Sometimes, it still tickles your nose and playfully pinches your ears, painting pink across your cheeks. But this is the only gentle reminder that outside the frosted window, snowflakes fall in soft piles against your doorstep, dancing and singing in their own special winter way. Inside is only merriment, where the wine is poured and the stuffed mushrooms are devoured slowly and languidly, each bite tasting of a melody. Around you on the walls, painted flowers and snapshot memories smile down on you as your friends laugh and sing and dance and break out the fiddle for a folk tune. After the wine comes the coffee where your hand gently holds a saucer and the cup almost never leaves your mouth. Everywhere you look, there is a joyous friendly face with a contentment of time about them, not anxious of a thing. Furry friends circle the floor in search of scraps, which they were given in a moment of weakness. And as you feel the warmth begin in your toes in your socks on the creaking wooden floor, as it travels up your spine and into your head and fingers, you know this is where you are meant to be. Here, surrounded by friends, with love draping his arm peacefully about your waist and laughing along with the rest, only every once in a while glancing over with a look that you know is meant to assure you, "Someday, this will be all we get, and it will be enough."
Some times you just feel so happy that it's as if your heart could burst:
Like when you laughed and talked and danced and sang with your friends who meant so much to you and loved you so much, and the lights twinkled and the cold air lifted your hair off your rosy cheeks. And you all leaned in and whispered and grinned and spoke of wonderful things that lit up your heart like a fireplace on a snowy night. And then you were swept up into that one most special hug, feeling warm and tight and safe and soft. That hug could have lasted a thousand years and still would never have been enough. As he put you down, you gently kissed his cheek, just so he would know how much he meant to you.
Sometimes you just feel so loved that it's as if the world could never seem cruel:
Like when you sat in the warm serenity of the Taizé community's embrace, holding your candle and singing and lifting the songs of hundreds of reverent minds and eyes up to God in thankfulness and wonder at all you have been given. And as the tears rolled down your cheeks and the sweet songs filled your lungs like breath, you were drawn into the warm and steady arms of your friends who were also crying and breathing the music of believers. And you all smiled and wiped away tears because the beauty of knowing you are truly and most purely loved is such an overwhelming feeling that one could hardly describe it in any way other than real beauty being felt in person.