there's a way that we minimize our insides for the possibility to be seen by the ones who are not looking. to be heard by the ones who are too distracted to listen.
how can we reach newness if we continue to suffocate our own airways with aromas of the old. tell me, how will we really bloom if we don’t believe in the wildness of life and chase control.
there’s a motion that can only be felt by the stillest of souls. a pleasure that lingers beneath the pain of bravery that can only be found in actions that are raw and bold.
the last six months i’ve driven the same road from one place to another that feels like home. i’ve stared out the window and watched the hills turn from brown to green to yellow-gold.
my heart aches with lingering. a desire to live more vibrantly than the california wildflowers that line the highways. to feel more deeply than the ocean that makes the pacific coast so well known. to be free to roam like the wind that brushes through the branches of the trees. to be tender like the pollen that clings to the kneecaps of the birds and the bees.
passion is an energy. it pulsates through the veins of the ones who desire to chase life rather than passively let it unfold. it breaks your heart over and over again for the sake of opening your soul wider to let more beautiful things exist beyond what you’ve already know. revealing what once labeled the unknown.
the ways in which we see the world are purely perspective. a mirror to the ways in which we desire, demand, or contract the most intimate parts of our own self. the ways in which we fly or fail mean nothing if we don’t leave room for feeling and returning back home to our truest, most authentic self.
why do we wonder. especially when we refuse to move our own feet. how do we find the choreography when we repress our expression as if it’s meant to be a secret kept only for ourselves.
the ways we pour out our desires do nothing more than create the option to connect more deeply to everything beyond the shielding of our own self.
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