i release into
questions of movement
like hands resting beside my waist
as i pace through this existence
wondering how much of myself
i have already passed along the way
i make amends in this life
with the parts of myself i used to question
like why i take longer to decide
what i do and do not like
why i say grace quietly in my head
even when no one is listening
like why i feel my fingers
before they feel me
as if the body always knows
what the mind is still learning
i paint each day
a little softer than the previous
letting the edges blur
where they used to feel so sharp
i take desire for what it’s meant for
something to feel
not always something to have
like tuesday morning
and how ordinary light
can make everything feel new
i think of how it feels to create
the blends of my pen
movement against paper
the texture of the clouds
and how they move ever so slowly
without questioning
where the wind is taking them
i stand in continuous motion
wondering if this is how the wind feels
so free yet so tame at the same time
touching everything
belonging to nothing
moving through trees and open windows
without ever asking
what it was supposed to become
and i switch to a perpendicular song
a different direction
a different sound
where i leave and go
where lines cross for a moment
before continuing somewhere else
and everything seems to come back
when it’s ready
or maybe when we are
i lie here for a moment
wondering if time folds so gently
that somewhere the things we leave
are still happening
if we come back when we’re ready
if people can find each other again
from completely different directions
or if this is something beautiful
we lie to ourselves about
and i pray it’s the first one
because time touches
in ways we rarely notice
and we gently press ourselves against it
leaving fingerprints
on things we once wished for
on moments we didn’t know
we would eventually miss
two people stuck in a moment
while everything around them moves
the clocks
the clouds
the wind through open windows
yet somehow we remain there
in whatever piece of time
decided to remember us
i know you can feel this
i know you can hear this
not because i need you to answer
but because some things move between people
without ever becoming words
like hands beside a waist
like fingers against paper
like two lines crossing
from completely different directions
only for a moment
but long enough
to change where both of them go