I’m writing about moving again, and when I write about moving, I really mean beginning. I’m beginning again.
SCHUYLERI’m writing about moving again, and when I write about moving, I really mean beginning. I’m beginning again.
SCHUYLERPeople have been washed away by less. I’ll take every step gently. So often, you can’t tell the rush of a riptide until you’re already at sea.
SCHUYLERI sit on the bare floor, leave my palms unturned, and watch relief pool into one hand, and uncertainty in the next. I will try not to lean more one way or another, but let them hold each other as company.
SCHUYLERIn a dream, I’m holding you close and when I wake, I do. How lucky, to want and have.
SCHUYLERHow radiant you are, waiting by the window, watching for the sun to grant you more time to dance beneath it. You’ve let yourself dream again. Even if its in bites, even if it’s in a different voice than it used to be.
SCHUYLERTake me back to the evergreen trees; to the sunlight through the leaves, the bending ferns and fronds. The pitter of the rain, the smooth rocks sleeping under moss. Take me back to the life I know before this body.
SCHUYLERThere will be a time where this hurts less and it will not mean it didn’t matter. It means that in the face of feeling something precious slip in my hands, I will always find a way back to myself.
SCHUYLERMy love lives in my cheeks – gives me away by the first smile. all the lines from years spent laughing, warm with extra freckles in the summer; a poker face that doesn’t keep once my knees fold.
SCHUYLERWe’ve never seen what a happy life could look like if we chose to spend it by ourselves – sharing our beautiful lives with friends, family members, the occasional crush, and lounging out in that quiet space alone as if an idyllic sunned beach.
SCHUYLERHold me here, where I feel less like a stranger to my own laughter. Where it’s easier to believe things happen for a reason or maybe, at least, out of a thousand winding roads my life might take, I will still find one that fits me.
SCHUYLERI allow myself to be a weathervane; receive every feeling that greets the shore of me.
SCHUYLERI never lose pieces of me, I just gain new understanding.
SCHUYLERI’m remembering again, how loneliness has always made me brave.
SCHUYLERYes, this life is mine, but more often I watch it take place and my hands feel too far away to touch it.
SCHUYLERI want to wade into the water on the sidewalk, crawl out of this feeling without giving it a name. Take a lighter to love’s sticky edges so its sadness isn’t caught in my throat.
SCHUYLERWe’re in spring and I have learned how to be gentle and sharp; strong bark on budding trees. Hold out your hands. I’ll leave a pink kiss and a pocket knife.
SCHUYLER