The Water's Edge

I’ve never felt this way before. Freedom crashes at destiny’s shore. I slept a little longer. I sank into the futon. Your alarm erupted, a lesson in futility. I kept dreaming of the ocean. You crept into bed and held me as tightly as a money clip clasps a wad of cash. You carry my pocket-sized heart with you wherever you dash.

We start each day with hugs and kisses. A thousand truths and ten million sunrises pierce through the windows. Birds fly past the canvas sky. We know this routine and tussle under the blankets. Who lets go first? My fears sank, like a boat. You let go. I collected my things. We signed unspoken peace treaties in half-breaths. Physical affection is never enough. Words are too much. The paradox of touching on a subject and becoming an object is like seeing the world through a downpour of tears. The outside reflects what’s within, but eyes are shut, sealed like hope frozen. The earth is not our home. We envision Paradise while on a road alone. Yet, we hear the sound of broken bones crushed under the weight of countless sins. It’s through death and decay we arrive in a place where we can stay. We are as powerless, visible, and memorable as foam. Though we seek to live life to the brim, it is better to contain ourselves and place some desires on passion’s shelves. Not everything can you film. Through repentance, we become someone special. Even trees fall, but what else? Their roots deep and circles of inner wisdom invite us to draw analogies and create mental images.

The humility of laughter echoes in every prayer dancing its way to the Hereafter. Choose me. Return to me, like a book. I have recited these lines and plunged into love. I have dived. I have knelt. I have bent. I am thoroughly spent. The devil is cement - filled with concrete ideas that entice people to abandon their spiritual beliefs. We are born pure. We simply cry. The devil envies emotion. He is indifferent. The path to God is littered with good intentions.

On earth, we plant flags. I’ll sing to you and hide behind the tallest crags. You’ll remember my celestial chant. Certain words I reserve for God, like worship and oneness. It’s as if I see Him through a fog - my confusion and illusions. The clarity He brings cleanses, as if soap for my soul. I could never change the way I feel about Him. There is no me without Him. I am never truly alone, but I can’t map Him. I am still traveling. He has more to say than I can fathom.

With love,

Yeru