People might never understand
sincere isolation or solace’s depths
until they find themselves
most comfortably within
their own weightless bounds of solitude.
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People might never understand
sincere isolation or solace’s depths
until they find themselves
most comfortably within
their own weightless bounds of solitude.
When I was a kid—after bedtime—as quietly as I could, I would crawl from my bed, onto the floor, then elbow and knee my way down the hallway to lay in the doorway of my brothers room to watch his television.
He’s four years older than I am and, well, I thought he was really cool.
One, for having a TV in his bedroom. And two, for probably knowing I was there but not saying anything.
Whatever he was watching didn’t really make a difference but it was comfortable there, on the carpet, with the blue light flashing.
A dark bedroom can be pretty scary to a child, especially during a thunderstorm.
Now that we’re older, we speak when it is necessary, but not all the time.
Probably less than either of us cares to admit.
He’s a busy working husband and parent while I’m pretty much all over the map.
Though when we do talk, it’s a meaningful talk of mutual reflection. He provides me with information from four years down the line and I remind him that I’m listening by offering whatever small insights are on my mind.
I thought he was great then and I still do now. No matter the distance the bond between two brothers is strong and unwavering.
Basically what I am saying is I look forward to the next time we’re able to watch a little TV, crack a couple jokes, and just hang out—without any pressure—even if it means the carpet or floor, that’ll be enough.
She breathes in deep
and exhales his dreams.
In the early evening calm
he falls back asleep.
And just as she wakes
in the mid-morning sun,
he brings to her coffee
just after his run.
Love is not
holding someone back
Love is helping them
get to where they want to go.
So if it seems your Love is gone,
take comfort in that
Love is sacrifice.
Love is sacred.
Love is not holding yourself back
for love.
It is not a cage, nor game to conquer.
Love is to be shared.
Bukowski said, “love is a dog from hell.”
Someone else said love is kind.
Another, love is blind.
Love is giving her their chance
Love is taking mine.
He
felt
much
more
comfortable
in
the
company
of
strangers,
yet
still
searched
for
that
familiar
face
in
the
crowd.