Sitting alongside and in between the moving cars.
But theirs still a softness, soft place to touch, to hold, to fall on, to rest and surrender.
Existing. Breathing, bleeding, crying oceans of tiny puddles.
Then we ask for more.
How do you stop yourself from not holding on? Trust, an answer. It’s all around me.
Whispering into tiny soft whispers.
Xo
momentsbymel 