I open the book.
The first word reads,
"Destined."

Afraid,
I turn the page,
And I rest into restless text.

Lines and curves
Come together
Making the letters
That make the words
That make you, and
I start to fall in love with your adjectives.

As the story writes,
This astonishment I have of you
Was inevitable.

"𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘺 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘦." 𝘐 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧.

As I read on,
Collected shapes
Come together
Forming the symbols
That create the words
That tell the story
Of what it's like for us to touch.

Seamless sentences
Flow through the pages
Floating our love
Down the river that is
This book.

This story is not for the faint of heart.
For there are rapids,
Rocks,
And falls
Along the way.

There are even times
When we both tried
To write ourselves
Right off the page.

But every time,
The pen just comes around to the other side of the paper.

"𝘐 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴. 𝘐'𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦." 𝘐 𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘰𝘯.

Our love,
It separates and
Circulates before it
Gravitates us
Back together again.
And again.

Realizing now that this book is a constant.
That we've been written into the same story.
That we float down the same river.

And even when it
Splits in two
And I can't see you
I don't worry,
Because I know you're just
Some pages over,
Writing a part
Of your story.

"𝘐 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘐'𝘷𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦." 𝘐 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘯...

They talk about the times
When I couldn't find you
In the same chapter.

Periods when your name
Had not been seen next to mine
For so long,
I thought maybe
You found a way
To get the pen
Off the page.

Then just as I would
Conquer my rapids
And approach a place of calm,
Out of no where
You would float along.
And just like that
It felt like
You were never even gone.

United we float,
Our names in tow
Each with a pen
On the page
And a row
In the boat.
Writing the story that writes us.

"Where does this river go?"
You ask. And suddenly,
I know.

"This is where we have been headed along."

We silently drift to the end.
But the water does not fall,
Instead,
The river runs into a rising sky.
Flowing ribbons of crystal lace.
This is our meeting place.
We have been here once before.

Have we been enough?

Two souls,
With a thousand stories
Lived and told.

A thousand timeless masterpieces.

"𝘐 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘯𝘰𝘸." 𝘐 𝘴𝘢𝘺,
"𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭."
And that is when her heart began to swell.

Ancient stories locked
In our DNA, released
Into the universal sea.
And finally,
She could see
All the lessons
That she needs
To at last
Complete
Her healing.

𝗦𝗵𝗲 𝗴𝗹𝗼𝘄𝗲𝗱 𝗶𝗻 𝘃𝗶𝗯𝗿𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝗴𝗿𝗲𝗲𝗻.

And so it seems,
Our fountains are filled
With masterpieces
Lived and killed.
We will move into eternity.
This I know certainly.

𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙄 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙚𝙣𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝.

▪︎ mica light ▪︎

S e x u a l  energy, invade me.
Permeate through my skin.
Sipping on sin
And tasting all the places
We've been.

S e x u a l  energy, encase me.
Cover me in tongue.
Lust filled lungs
Breathe heavy til I come
Undone.

S e x u a l  energy, envelope me.
Consume me in your grip.
Sip on my lips
And seal me with your
fingertips.

S e x u a l  energy, enter me.
Arrive inside of me to find
My melting mind
Cascading into rivers,
At the bed side.

She carries the weight,
As she tries to walk straight.
She cannot help but seethe.

Treading through mud,
And emotional blood.
Constantly trying to breathe.

The pain that she felt,
From the cards she was dealt -
Not knowing the reasons why.

The tears she would weep,
From a sadness so deep,
That echoes and amplifies.

For the rest of her life,
At the edge of a knife -
The slightest movement will ****.

"Keep calm. Keep steady.
Get with it already."
Or all that's distasteful will spill.

Behind all her mystery,
Is sadness and misery -
A truth she wants no one to find.

"She's magic" they'll say,
Before they run astray.
To this madness they won't be confined.

She will never be risen,
For her body's a prison,
Her mind, a bitter disease.

But they have a choice.
Without her, they'll rejoice.
They can live however they please.

Her soul is tired; heart is spent.
- Generational Torment -
Seeping from the past into each day.

Sifting through; righting what's wrong.
Hoping that her love is strong,
Enough for all the pain to be repaid.

Maybe one day, finally
A healed being she will be.
It's all she ever wanted all along.

She can't run from this existence,
But perhaps with some persistence,
Maybe she can finally belong.

She cries for you, she cries for me.
She cries for every long lost being.
She just wants the suffering to end.

A lineage of damage
On her plate to manage -
A lifetime of work to transcend.

Look past the hurt, beyond the pain.
It is clear what still remains:
The beginnings of a budding lotus flower.

This is nature, seeking nurture.
To this earth she needs an anchor.
This is the beginning of her power.

~ ☼ ~