Tag Archives: Love

The Absurdity Of Chance

By pure chance, we were born into a country that is peaceful and free. By chance, others are born into violence and poverty, fear and war.
Instead of treating yourself to emotional reactions punctuated by hate and fear, absorb the absurdity of chance.
Do not relinquish your empathy. Fathers pass on the hurt that they neglect to heal. We all feel pain and chaos. We’ve all experienced varying degrees of anguish and despair.
We are all citizens of this world.
These are not problems we can fix with our hands. There are people who are aggressively unhappy, people who reserve the worst parts of themselves for others, people trafficking in lies.
People who keep evil in their pocket.
There are people who don’t care about anything that actually matters; people who are so busy trying to justify their venom, they don’t realize that there is a point from which they can’t come back.
But do not give up on this world that we live in. The path to a universal breakdown is lubricated by fear.
Busy yourself living a life so full that there is no room for fear. Grasp on to moments of happiness as though they are life preservers saving us from becoming swallowed by the darkness.
Do not give up on this world.

One.

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She loves him still.

Especially in late September when fog hangs thick and low. When she allows herself to indulge in all the memories of what was supposed to be; when she closes her eyes long enough, he is right there with her.

She can’t remember how long ago she lost him, but when she spotted him this evening, everything that ever felt unfinished in her life rose up to face her. He was right there in front of her, slouched over his coffee in the same weighty posture he had before he grew older.

She stood there unmoving, watching him through the coffee shop window. She studied his furrowed brow and the way his lips paused to blow and cool his coffee. People were chattering all around him, but he didn’t seem to notice. He was so far away. Life had hardened his once boyish face, but his eyes were exactly the same.

He looked up as though he was willed to, and caught her staring at him.

Blood rushed up her chest, down her arms and through her fingertips. She lost all ability to breathe and the only thing she could hear was her heart pounding in her ears.

Yes, she loves him still.

You, Me and a Campfire, Babe.

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It’s just me and you and a campfire, babe

Where my smile holds you like a lover

And we grip tightly, our peace.

Wrapped in thick and humid summer nights

Or chilly evenings in September

We are exactly where we are meant to be.

And all the world can spin around us

When it’s just you, me and a campfire, babe.

The flames dance with our dreams

Wishes smoulder in embers

Hopes and desires contained like a message in a bottle

And we’re making it up as we go along

We belong to the infinite sky

Where the stars eavesdrop on our deepest passions

And the future is getting shorter

But it’s just you, me and a campfire, babe.

Crickets chirp where we sit in the silent night

Everything around us can turn to stone.

I’ve had the pleasure of knowing love in my life

But never quite so freely.

We’ve shared this space with friends and enemies

With music, food and wine,

But a little wink across the way

Signals that even still,

It’s just you and me and a campfire babe.

People spend their whole lives chasing our kind of love

And maybe it won’t always be here

But we’re working hard on forever.

These Hands

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These hands that I watched clenched in reckless and angry youth, soften into mature and gentle openness.

On which innumerable scars tell stories of hard work, old conflicts.

These hands that paired with a wink, automatically rest on my leg when I am your passenger.

That grip and pull and carry weight; cradle babies, stroke hair, rub backs.

These hands that lovingly create our favourite meals, choose the sweetest gifts, pour the perfect glass of wine.

That have wiped my tears, lifted my chin when I’m broken.

Grasped my hand, held me up.

Led me out of chaos and nightmares; away from things that hurt.

These hands that still reach for mine when we walk side-by-side.

Always.

That go from being tough with masculine purpose to delicate and lost in intimate caress.

These hands that find their place on my hip every night to ease me into blissful sleep.

I know these hands better than I know my own.

365 days of Gratitude. Day 37.

puzzle(Photo by: Shana Siskos)

I am grateful for the unspoken agreement that my husband and I honour: Only one of us is allowed to fall apart at a time. It has been my turn for the better part of two years.

I sit on the floor with all of it scattered around me.

Clutching handfuls of puzzle pieces trying desperately to make them fit. I look at the parts I’ve already done and can’t figure out how I ever got them together.

And along comes a storm to blow it all apart.

It makes me want to place all of the pieces back in the box; put the box on the shelf.

But never for long.

He sits down beside me; puts his hand on my thigh; shows me how to do the edges first and helps me fill in the parts where I’m stuck.

Tells me I don’t have to finish it all in one night anyway.