I used to write to wend my way out of the darkness,
to talk myself out of the sadness,
to cure my broken heartedness,
but now I find that
Because you took my heart in your hands
and because you bared and repaired me
I have only joy.
I alone hold the joy of your freckled skin,
I alone know your virtues
and I alone hold your sins.
I alone know your tenderness, your truth,
and I alone have you, and
You, alone, carry my burdens and my vices,
hold my laughter and my care,
and you alone have brought me here.
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 2:36 PM UTC
I used to write to wend my way out of the darkness,
to talk myself out of the sadness,
to cure my broken heartedness,
but now I find that
Because you took my heart in your hands
and because you bared and repaired me
I have only joy.
I alone hold the joy of your freckled skin,
I alone know your virtues
and I alone hold your sins.
I alone know your tenderness, your truth,
and I alone have you, and
You, alone, carry my burdens and my vices,
hold my laughter and my care,
and you alone have brought me here.
I haven't written in about a year, and I thought you all deserved an explanation.
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