True Love Waits

Waking up alone wrapped in a comforter and gently clasping a pillow with your arms can be rewarding. Apart from the loneliness, there's something truly beautiful in it all. There is something wonderfully rewarding.

Those whom have made love to silence for countless nights would know what I mean, just as those that have had torrid love affairs with busy nights would know as well.

Eventually, you let the calm and the excitement collide in a space of solitude, filling it with the words of poets from long ago, thoughts of anguished souls who've surpassed your own journey, songs that pull you by the hand, set your heart afire and provide an escape from the stagnation.

It's quite easy to fall in love with all of that. And in truth, a love should be given. But to become consumed is a sentence of vacancy. A hindrance. An avoidance from one's waking life. A dream. And dreams are beautiful, but without reality to temper them, they mean nothing.

In this space...this dwelling of growth and change, of the melting of resistance, of the accepting of the self...this is where a real bravery lies. So many walk this beaten path--fearful of the other wanderers. Some will wander forever, but have still come further than those who are exclusive dreamers. But it is those that are not afraid to dream, not afraid to seek, and not afraid to live life AWAKE that will be the blessed encompassed. 

They will not fear to dream for love. They will not fear to live for love. They will not fear it when it lies next to them on a pillow when they wake.

But it is these times of great passing that one shares a pillow with emptiness, shares a space with silence, and shares subconsciousness with the self that will ultimately lead them to love. True love. And true love always waits.

August Summer Night

Evenings that belong to the summer's end can seem quite saturnine. With one's window open into the city's night air, you can breathe nostalgia directly into your lungs. People are either out accumulating more memories to carry into the wintertime, or they are indoors sorting through the memories of yesterday. 

Solitude or distraction. There seems to be no in between, here. Always one or the other. Perhaps one even is the other. The hands of time always ticking away at the age of the skin. Souls desperately searching the dark rooms of castles hoping to find their mates. Psyches working overtime while remaining forever anonymous. Broken hearts nursing themselves back to health as best as they can. Few ever make a full recovery.

From such great heights of a desert mountain, one can see the grid of civilization lit up like Christmas lights. The steam and smoke of factories. The crawling of traffic. We all seem like directionless little bugs wandering through a large carnival. Yes, a large carnival with seasons separated by emotions, and emotions separated without unity.

Summer nights bring such awkward thoughts and feelings.