Friday, January 3, 2020
Waking through the night I never once cried for you. Even though last we met in mind I tried our truth.
Is it us or my fantasy? The path leading to you is invisible to me. The journey where our mornings connect seem impossible. And the courage to seek you would be incredible.
Where roots begin is the cold dirty shambles beneath us. You don’t get to see the ugly. Like how mornings lead us to day, from birth grows new life.
But if so, allow the contrast between dark and light — night and day is simply what the sun is doing. It’s beautiful when you get a moment to appreciate it.
We forget what it is. For those who live in that space know how to grow from it. Like a bamboo tree the growth spurt is late in its lifetime.
Most of its doing is invisible to watchers. The actuality of its peak seems impossible early on. And the rate of the bamboo tree’s growth spurt is incredible.
Because life is beautiful like this, deep diving into that idea can sprout a tear. Either way you look at it, what you look at is what you get.
What truth you try may wet an eye. What lights the day is a sun we can’t look at with our naked eye.
And through writing this wordplay was a beautiful morning giving life to breakfast. And wishes we’ll be on that plane arriving in the morning to eat breakfast.
But because we are late, we must pay respects to the fog.