The weight of days is equal to or larger than the weight of your heart. I wrap words around the Saturday noon nap and spin threads of dreams that I only half remember upon waking. But I open my eyes smiling, it was surely a good dream to wish into reality.
I’m starting to believe that goodbyes are real. To some, they come easily, as natural as the movement of covering your face the split second before a runaway ball smashes into your nose. Same principle, really; both reactions serve the purpose of defending a precious asset – in the first case, your facial architecture, in the second, more often than not your heart.
The question of whether I am willing to show up fully again in front of another human being came up last night over a glass of gin infused with summer berries. Who else would have the lack of inhibition and the warm concern to ask such a direct question than an old friend: ‘Loving is supposed to be a selfless emotion, can you still offer it?‘ No hesitation. Yes, I can. I’m as sure as I’ve been in the surest of moments of being blindly, deeply in love that I can.
My heart’s grown big again over the years, it’s grown gentle even in the face of disenchantments and frustration. But it’s also grown confident in the overflow of love it can generate.
The days smell like lilac and acacia flowers and I can’t help smiling – it’s surely a good dream to wish into reality.