I’d get lost in this green, ferns leaning against the trees, soil stuck to my feet, never dream of finding my way back again.
SCHUYLERI’d get lost in this green, ferns leaning against the trees, soil stuck to my feet, never dream of finding my way back again.
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 know I could be an astronomer of this swooning.
SCHUYLERI still know the fabric of where I begin and end.
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.
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.
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.
SCHUYLERI’m thinking about how early the spring flower buds rise up from the grass; just barely on winter’s heels. How uncomfortable, how cold the soil must be, still half-frosted, when the roots start to take shape.
SCHUYLERSome mornings, I like to live like a secret; wake as quietly as I can, slip out of bed without so much as a wrinkle.
SCHUYLERI allow myself to be a weathervane; receive every feeling that greets the shore of me.
SCHUYLERI’ll craft a haven that that cradles every joy and sorrow, but doesn’t hold them to keep.
SCHUYLERIf every feeling comes like a wave, I try to decide what kind of coastline I’ll become.
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.
SCHUYLERThe world will be loud again. I’ll notice the loneliness less.
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.
SCHUYLER