When love packs you in like snow from Northern skies, your heart intertwines with those that survive your smothering. Distant bells chime names of those thrown into the light from other’s darkness. We don’t have all the answers, we are not supposed to. Flowing on that fine razor’s edge, we balance the will be, with the should’ve been. Each morn we wake feeling heavier to the ground, yet our minds grab currents of winds way up high. Knowing when to speak, when the truth is hiding, finding the meaning that we believe, as long as we are still trying. Holding on to faith, as a blind man trusting his way, giving love as a child who believes his heart will always lead the day.
f.messina ( Christmas 2017)