. . .
Standing face-to-face by the edge of the lake, I wonder what you will say with those deep blue eyes.
The wind blows an auburn lock over your silent ears—it’s now or never.
Marry me, I sign.
. . .
I used to pride myself on my courage but somewhere in the debris of my youth, among naïve debacles, simple freshments, beyond hills of sunny memories that stretch on for infinity, in a bed of excelsior lies covert the words I never said to you.
. . .
In this glass box, the air is cool, crisp, unmoving. It sits on my skin with the fragility of a butterfly wing. The light on my feet dances with the ocean below. It turns from pink to gold, white to violet, sketching and re-sketching patterns in a blink. There is no one in this glass box besides my reflection and I. We listen for a message in the crashing waves—perhaps a whisper of hope, or a shout of courage. We sit still, above a world in perpetual motion. There is a strange comfort in the clockwork of the sun.
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Speech Language Pathologist, Writer, Blogger -- life, language, communication, a good laugh, hope, healing, and the grace of connection
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