My hope is never in what my eyes see. Maybe that’s why Ya’qoub became blind with grief; his eyes became tired of hoping in a reality they couldn’t see. I don’t know how I know but I need to protect that inner knowing, even if I seem weird or far out. Even if I lose face or lose my mind, I mustn’t lose that inner knowing.
A love that survives and endures. A love that can weather through the storms of this world and isn’t drowned by the drenching rains that follow the evaporation of unspoken words. An ecosystem, not an echo chamber.
I thought I was waiting for you to discover me when in fact I was waiting for myself to check in. As I closed the door on you in exasperation, I opened the door into myself. Colour me confused but I think I was waiting for you to find me so that I wouldn’t have to feel how it’s to be lost, on my own. I thought your love was hope.
I’m not a performance. I’m an experience, an expression. I’m contained by the moment, not for consumption. Close your eyes and your mind and feel my meaning. Hear my breathing in your heart and you’ll know. You’ll remember what was carved into your soul, eons ago. Our shared love.
May I find what meaning is resting in the distances and silences between us. May I reconnect with my soul when I feel lost in whirlwinds of mercurial thoughts.