☮️ A quiet place to write about loud emotions 🧘
sitting here. eyes closed. it feels like, a flower settling on calm moonlit lake. stars pressing themselves into the blanket of water the universe losing in a pool of dark tapestry undulating motion, ticking the pebbles on the shoreline.
The endless lights that scream, Against and across the empty vastness.
I want to be a star.
Raging against it all.
Not because its a conscience revolt, but because it's what I am.
I'm a force in this world.
So are you.
Shine.
I approach the door I see in my dreams. The shifting dreams I've had for the past few nights. Sometimes its the same door, sometimes it's new. So each night, I focus and describe it in this journal The door, so that one night I can choose.
I don't remember.
Tethers that Stretch Deep hang, slack now Without Connection to Memory
The door is here. I'm dreaming.
I'm standing although I don't know how I know that I'm standing
I'm closed, so without knowing how. I open.
{{ The Door Is Here }}
The door stands in front of me. Silvery tendrils flow like seaweed from the core of the sun. The tendrils, translucent, beckoning heartbeats in a vacuum. Flickering against a pouring light – So white, that if I had flesh, I knew it would already have burned away.
As I go to scream, a tendril reaches my cheek and I remember my mother.
The smell of her long dark raven hair. The autumn eyes, the first eyes id ever seen in the world.
The warmth of being held The first time I knew I wasn't alone. held.
The forgotten memory, my first one, retches something so deep so personal, it hurts.
The light around the door, pulsates, in satisfaction. Rippling the loose shadowy threads
I don't know how much ive forgotten For a moment I ponder staying For a moment The pain of remembering vs The pain of forgetting struggles until at last I turn away teary eyed, I force myself to wake up
the water washed the pebbles in a ceaseless ebb and flow soft footfalls of pixies running through a summer breeze
I think i might know. after hours riding alone where the freeway drops away, where the heart beat of yellow lines start to fray, where nature gets a wild and the sun prickled road breaks.
I think I might know where I belong
Have you ever seen spongy dinosaurs?
You know, those kinds that start as pellets Then you add a little water.
Wait.
But no matter how much water is added, for some reason
they don't grow.
I'm like that sometimes.
I keep myself hidden most days but some days I can't stop
I can't stop taking everything in
When other people talk When other people speak its like screaming
like being so full but so tiny you don't grow you just fill up
she walked us to her tree house she helped us up inside then pulled out the flashlight and looked deep into our eyes
“this willow walks away from here every thirty years if you see it walking if you see it move its said this tree will find you taking what its due
she pointed at me
“thirty years ago today it saw your mother stare
she pointed at my best friend
“your father saw us too
then as we tried to run the tree started to move
we filled the scrapbook with many things we all poured everything we could think of into it hoping it would swell instead that made it hunger
more memories. more time.
more and more and more and afterward
we gave up
The road itself, was immortal.
Countless people had crossed it, Countless others would eventually come
This truth was one of only a few That the road had always known
For it held no memory, save for the places where wind and rain had etched deep patterns, over years, into it's sides
The road could feel through expressions through the plants and grass through winds playing through flowers
The road could show great joy
It had grown large fruit trees Shading travelers Feeding them Providing respite
The road was happy