Something Like Sunrise.

July 6.

Time.

They say time heals all things.

All things.

But does that include me?

Broken as I am?

Caved in?

Imploded?

Even me?

Even me.

Time will heal even me.

Time… and him.

My light at the tunnel’s end.

With rays that hit on just the right spots. A cure for my numbness.

Warmth to target areas.

My pill.

My little cabin, into whom I retreat when life bites back.

You want to be there so I will let you.

My shoulder to cry on… to lean on.

…And boy will I lean!!… HARD.

I should be cautious, I know.

But what do I have to lose? Have I not lost everything?

And somehow, you look at me with eyes that sparkle in the darkness as if I’m everything to be gained.

Eyes that ask why I keep hurting myself.

You do not know how precious you are

And you’re right. The idea of being precious is foreign to me.

But your eyes stare back at me asking how I could think that I’m anything but.

Be with me, Georgia. Be with me.

Those words ring in my head and run right into my wounded soul.

And rather than speak, I fall into your arms with vulnerability that can’t be expressed in words.

But somehow, that silence was all you needed to hear.

Photo by Chike Nwagbo- Such beauty. Such grace

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