Fresh paint on old wood. Sweetgrass
on knees, the smell of earth
melting into mud in a summer rain.
These are the things that I
have become; hands
making silhouettes in shadowlight-
wings missing a back to perch on.
The geese are flying home,
I see them in flocks in the snowfields.
Too soon, too early. Lost but knowing
exactly where you are. Having always known.
I wonder if every bird survived the flight.
Or are they missing a brother, a father?
Do they linger in the fields
watching the horizon, hoping?
Do they know that we, too,
keep looking to the sky?
Here’s to late-night baths. To taking pleasure in the small things again. To decent books. Here’s to everyone in shadowlight, their smiling faces, their drunken words. Here’s to us dancing in my room and here’s to your hands on me. Here’s to us. Here’s to places and plans and people, to things I can’t yet name and to feeling alive once more.
People are like stars. Some stars are smaller than others, some shine brighter than others, but they are all just as beautiful. We don’t look up at the night sky and compare how beautiful one star is to another, so why should we do this to people? Why don’t we view people in the same way we view stars? After all, we are made of star dust.
It is so much more important to focus on being a better person than it is to focus on being liked. If you spend all your time worrying about whether people like you, you’ll be spending less time being a kind and loving person. In the end, it all depends on what your priority is: your ego, or others’ well being.