Something Pretty for the Soul

Thumbnail image lovingly lifted from Patrick Benson’s illustrations for North: the Amazing Story of Arctic Migration by Nick Dowson

There is nothing left to say but I’ll say it anyway. You know I’m not so good at silence when I’m feeling inner violence. I’m not so good at keeping to myself when I’m lonely in my skin.

Yes I’ve run out of messages to say, and I don’t really want to talk anyway. Just want to be held in your arms forever. Hold me in your arms forever. Hold me in your arms until I don’t feel the separation anymore.

I’ve lost hold of the pattern once again. But I didn’t really want to have to be the one to hold it, to have to try so hard to keep the bigger picture in view. It’s just some version of not trusting you. I had the idea that this was wrong. I’m looking for details that I can rest my mind in, just something pretty for the soul.

Something pretty for the soul.

Lying in the back of the back yard with all the blades of grass. Every single one illuminated by the light, and I remember the knots in the trees. I remember my love for the kittens, and them forever escaping me. I remember my love for my sister, and her forever evading me.  

It was something pretty for the soul.