(no subject)
I met you through a common friend in the attic of my parents' house.
Although I didn't know it then, I soon was finding out.
Oh, you are the roots that sleep beneath my feet and hold the earth in place.
Each time a faucet opens, words that are spoken. The water runs away.... and I hear your name. No, nothing has changed.
There was this book I read and loved. The story of a ship... that sailed around the world and found that nothing else exists
beyond his own two sails and wooden shell and what is held within. All else is sure to pass, we clutch and grasp, and debate what is truly permanent.
But when the wind starts to shift, there is no argument.
Now I sing and drink and sleep on floors and try hard not to be annoyed by all these people worrying about me.
So when I'm suffering through some awful drive, you occasionally cross my mind. It's my hidden hope that you are still among them. Well, are you? Oh, you are the roots that sleep beneath my feet and hold the earth in place. Each time a curtain opens, sunlight pours in and a lifetime melts away.
We share a name on some picturesque grave...
I am excited about the upcoming weeks. I have high hopes for Spring. Yesterday I wrote in my journal that I imagine long walks again, sunshine, and new life.
I sensed it in a moment!
Not only that, but I need it to be spring, soon. I need hope and warm weather and feeling that way I do in the spring.
10 days until I leave for Africa.
There are butterflies in my stomach and happiness in my heart, although not from Africa. Either I have a mild illness or this is something I've felt before...