Life broke me. It forced me to look for love every where. I found it in other people’s pain. I found it in places I never thought I would ever look. I found it in disappointment, I found it in rejection.
I found love in love, and in the most beautiful of places. I found it in the sky, I found it as the sun caressed my back. I found love in courage and in other people’s hearts.
After a long time looking for love outside of myself, every discovery to myself. I realised that love lived everywhere. I learned that love could never possibly leave me. Because I am love, every inch of me, every part.
There are moments that arise that I feel afraid, separated. I want to feel part of it all. I look around for comfort, and I see still moments, held by life and the last sun. Everything becomes hazy, like star dust.
I open my heart to all of it. The confusion, unknowingness and beauty. Life is never constant, forever changing. But love always stays the same. It’s always there, in the stars, the evening sky, in people that I don’t know walking by.
All of it, can be openings and doorways to amazing possibilities. Even the parts that hold us back, are lessons that will eventually set us free.
I think life asks a lot from us. More from some than others. I think we’re strong enough, brave enough, even if we don’t know it yet.
I think that when we become used to letting go, all that remains will just flow. But their will all always be hardship, and that’s ok. It’s the obstacles, the uneasiness, the pain that will make us grow.
We don’t need a way out, but a space within. To plant our feet, to place our wings. To hold on, but just lightly. To know that we’re being held, even without arms around us.
The wind whispers, ‘it’s going to be alright’. Life holds me like the stars holds its stars. Strangers bring me their light, smiles like golden hours. They fill me up and carry me.
But when I allow myself to be completely alone, I feel an emptiness. The scars deep inside, I can feel every inch of them. I taste the blood inside my tears. And their is no one to carry me, to hold me. I wonder is it because I don’t need anyone? Or is it because I have been forgotten about?
But maybe it is meant to happen, when I’m grey and old. When I have exhausted every strength, lived every ‘me’ time to its fullness. And the wind will whisper to me, ‘he has arrived.’