Just Writing

The Place Where You Lived

The Place Where You Lived

It was a small place
at the heart of soul
from which all things flowed
A cottage was there
that housed it all
and it was barren and cold

It housed the dark truths
and the lighter ones, too
It kept every secret locked tight
It was dark chaos
behind a painted door
Shutters closed against the light

When you arrived there
with your smiles and knowing
brought your bag and let yourself in
You coaxed out the darkness
and opened the windows
and made it the place where you lived

You swept up the shadows
and changed them to light
unpacked all of your things within
You made it your home
this place at the heart
you made it the place where you lived

And in changing the center
you changed everything else
every piece that made up the whole
No shutter left sealed
no corner left in shadow
you answered the questioned soul

Flowers began blooming
and the sun shone bright
where there had only ever been blue
But all of that changed
the day that you came
when the door opened wide just for you

And though it was beautiful
and fallen into place
it shattered like some things do
Suddenly you were gone
and the cottage was empty
plunging to black past blue

Though it wasn’t all gone
the shelves were still full
but the shutters were closed up tight
And the door stood still
just very slightly ajar
praying for the end of the night

Sometimes a candle burned
to light up the room
just a bit of gold for the repairs
But the flowers didn’t grow
and the sun barely shined
and the sounds were whispered prayers

The memories like cobwebs
crowded all the corners
but the room was empty and cold
They attempted a fire
in a once bright hearth
but it was hard, and they too bold

And so time passed
the sky mostly stormy
the light from the sun so split
And the shelves still full
were covered in time
in the dark in the place where you lived

I Was Wondering

All The Flowers Of The Mountain

Today, life is very beautiful. It’s pulling at my heart in the most peculiar way, filling every single crack and crevice. I’m not sure what it’s trying to say, if anything. And I’m not sure what I’m trying to say, if anything.

FallI’ve found so often that sometimes life is achingly glorious. There are moments so perfect it almost hurts. Feelings so deep that you could never hope to explain them. The heart is such a wild thing, you know. Words are the framework of my life, of my existence, and yet today I’m sitting beside the window with my thoughts, looking out at a cloudy sky and brilliantly colored leaves with lovely music filling my ears. And I can’t find the words.

I wish I could. I wish you could feel even a bit of what I’m feeling in this moment. And the more rational part of my brain is scrambling in a million directions, trying to find meaning, purpose, and explanation for moments like these. It’s the thing trying to find the words.

But there aren’t any. There is only gratitude and a few tears I can’t explain. Wishing I could put these feelings in a box, deep in my heart for when I’ll need them again. But perhaps that’s the wild, rugged beauty of moments like these.

It’s like a beautiful landscape, like this autumn day that surrounds me and fills up my heart. I can’t capture this day, these hillsights. I can’t carry them with me as much as I wish I could. I pray for the memory to stay with me, and I live in this completely beautiful moment as fully as I can. I can’t capture autumn leaves, crisp air, and clouds, or this feeling that is filling my heart. I can’t capture the mountains or take them with me.

They are gifts. Moments like these. And for that I can only be profoundly grateful.