11.15.2016

summer girl // poetry


the sky was gray the day i met you,
the world, cold and bleak;
your eyes asked a thousand questions
that you never managed to speak.

the leaves fell golden on our shoulders
as we spun round and round,
your face was full of laughter,
but you never made a sound.

the days stretched into months
and still, you never really said -
if this was what you truly wanted - 
or simply a dream inside your head. 

you saw the world through colors,
a thousand shades of red and blue;
i saw the world through moments -
ones of them, and us, and you.

i felt your restless spirit wander
every time the sky turned gray,
but my heart held onto summer -
and you swore you wanted to stay. 

i saw the shade of the grass below,
and the leaves upon the trees;
you saw the space between the branches,
and tasted autumn on the breeze.

you felt the winter in the wind,
i saw the eternal blue sky,
and still you never said a word,
despite the time that passed us by.

you didn't say goodbye, you know,
that day you walked away -
but i could see, that in your eyes,
summer had turned your world gray.

they say you became a painter;
that your colors hang on the wall,
but i am still your summer girl --
and you are still lost in fall.

m.a.l. // 11:04 p.m. // November 14th, 2016

(just a few snapshots taken in October and November (from Arizona and Ohio and in between), along with some hastily written words that jumped out at me. xo)

10.11.2016

coming home //


"you know, it's true. i think we all like to believe that, someday, we'll simply stumble onto the place we can attach the word "home" to... that we'll find a place to belong; to stay. but maybe "home" isn't always discovered; perhaps it isn't the end of a journey - a destination, a building, a point on a map. maybe it cannot be found, no matter how much we search. to some, perhaps, it is - and has always been - within us, rooted in our memories, wrapped around the ones we know, remembered in the ones we've lost. maybe home isn't a place at all, but rather, is found in the life -- and the people -- we (have) love(d)."

(speaking of home... i've been back in Ohio for the past week and a half, and everytime i come back, it is harder and harder to say goodbye. leaving this place has torn my heart in two too many times to count; maybe home cannot always be found on a map, but sometimes, i think, it claims your heart without asking for permission. xx)

9.13.2016

lost // poetry


you say that you are lost
as if that is a bad thing,
but darling, don't you know?
you are simply traveling --

the world is big and scary,
or so they've always said
but these demons that you're fighting
are all inside your head. 

fear is a part of the wonder
that we feel when we let go,
and the answers to those questions
are all things you'll someday know. 

do not fear the open road
or the first glimpse of an ending -
for the outcome of any journey
is written at the beginning. 

m.a.l. //

(just a few lines of poetry scribbled down last night; i miss this. always. these past few weeks have been exhausting - new job (!!!), new faces, new experiences, planning for (yet another) Ohio trip, more than a little bit of stress, etc - and writing was pushed aside for a time. but i always come back to it. i have to. as always, i hope to be around here more, but we'll see. life usually has other plans. here's to grace and growth and room to breathe. it is coming. 🌻✨ how is September treating you, friends? xx)

8.31.2016

tremble // poetry


i remember that night the storm blew in;
every moment etched into my mind 
as vivid as the lightning that split the sky. 
there was thunder in my chest, 
invisible fingers in my hair as 
the ground quavered with the 
voice of the storm, and yet, 
even as the earth shook 
before the fury of the gale, 
i did not tremble.

i have never feared the storms,
for i have loved the aching wind and 
wild beauty too much to fear the lightning.
with your hand in mine
i could face the death of all we know,
the end of every beginning,
the ache of every goodbye and
i would stand tall. 

it is the pang of absence that 
cuts me deepest, the emptiness
between my fingers where yours
should be, and still, after all this time
how can you not understand
why someone who smiles at the
incoming storm and laughs into the wind
trembles when you walk away? 

[m.a.l.]