the jar of almond butter, thinly spread on the green apple after the nap.
an ottoman the color of joy, puffed up under a brick wall.
the note you passed to the hot guy with your phone number on it, just like when you were 14.
first sips of coffee, hot, bitter, creamy, pleasure.
ink through needle into skin that adores the small points of pain marking time.
hot pink laces finally feeling the touch again as they resume their place on the feet ready to run.
grammatically correct texts. and then more texts.
craving being called beautiful and instead getting stunning. cause sometimes it just feels good to hear.
sweet, salty, crunchy pad thai with extra big shrimp and generous squeezes of lime.
tears after the orgasm, alone.
10 strands of twinkles all plugged in waiting for the moment that more begins. here. it is now ready.
believing in the power that your kids hold the magic because now they are free to be free.
not making decisions because right now it is enough to remember to open the jar of almond butter after the nap and feed your body just enough to keep moving.
standing still. daily reminders from friends to stand still. to feel it. standing still because setting off bombs was what was needed. now standing in the dust. the rubble. the after.
being on the other side. with skin telling your story of flight and light and home and stillness.
all the things that must be in your becoming now.
lift the veil. stand still.
let beautiful becoming stunning in all the things.
the stillness never hides the truth.