the tender dissolution of sadness. to reclaim empathy and stake your claim to happiness once more. to remember who you are.
doubt shrouds those who welcome change, for our differences allude us, our fear shocks us. there is no manual to life, to youth; only compassion, only fatigue, only raw talent and darkness.
i sometimes find myself in a dank forest with no stars, no reprieve from the realities of the world. but love cures all ails. love guides us when we feel forsaken.
love is a sage promise. we’re wiser when we’re young, and then we become jaded by time. Fall prey to our doubts and our failures, disappointed by our lack of action. but even though the sun sets on our dreams and we follow more false prophets and idols than sonnets, the soul never dies. a soul deepened by passion, a soul colored like rubies and emeralds of the earth’s soil. the soul is God’s greatest creation, that God that blinks and has a chipped tooth and drinks whiskey raw. The God of Man.
for without a soul we would doubt divinity, though it’s blatant in the nodes of consequence, the trill of a bird, a song’s soaring eclipse. the soul makes love possible, makes empathy our savior, makes the poem our siren song; for a soul left willowing and tired is that which doesn’t express its purpose.
and love is its purpose.
- journal entry, october 2012