quiet as kept.

yesterday, i handed out keys to doors i had kept locked away for the past decade.

i confessed my love & acceptance for the one that got away. i admitted wrongs & leftover guilt to my right hand. i shared my fears & paranoia with a confidante.

i revealed my “number” to a lover along with a dozen stories from my past, and watched as he painfully absorbed years & years of heartache, naiveté, mistrust, shame & confusion. experiments in all types of conditional love - from self-serving to unrequited - on a quest for the unconditional.

instead of finally convincing him that i’m as fcked up as i’ve proclaimed to be, he finally understood my extremes of aversion & surrender, sympathizing over my misguidance. encouraging the type of forgiveness i’d never allowed myself or anyone else.

i admit it feels odd traveling without my emotional cargo, but peace-of-mind is the perfect carry-on.

1 day ago
”

“Everyone must leave something in the room or left behind when he dies, my grandfather said. A child or a book or a painting or a house or a wall built or a pair of shoes made. Or a garden planted. Something your hand touched some way so your soul has somewhere to go when you die, and when people look at that tree or that flower you planted, you’re there.

It doesn’t matter what you do, he said, so long as you change something from the way it was before you touched it into something that’s like you after you take your hands away.

The difference between the man who just cuts lawns and a real gardener is in the touching, he said. The lawn-cutter might just as well not have been there at all; the gardener will be there a lifetime.”

Fahrenheit 451
3 days ago
”

The good writers touch life often. The mediocre ones run a quick hand over her. The bad ones rape her and leave her for the flies.

Farenheit 451
5 days ago