work in progress
"I want to say something."
"Okay."
"Okay."
and sometimes there are moments you want to wrap up tight and tuck in your pocket for only your heart to brush its soft hands on and let seep into your blood, pouring through your soul's soul with the quiet rush of goosebumps sitting next to a fireplace. because putting words to it would be doing it a disservice. because some things are better in a feeling than a story. like the moment you fell in love or the look in those babies' eyes when you stared and they stared back. like that cold, dark canyon suddenly came rushing up to meet you and snapped all the bridges. and just writing it down like that already stole a piece away. like the feet of the Pieta in St. Peter's Basilica, rubbed by too many hands just trying to touch something real and pure and perfect only to ruin it with the endless need. there was a moment, before the rope went taught, when he let out a bubbling laugh, transported to the summer lake and that rope swing whose yawn could still be heard through the muddied waters of all of his wandering years. brighter days ahead, he said. brighter days ahead.
