Long-ish Form

Oh aren’t there stars / Shining somewhere? / And I know you are here, / Sitting on this patio with / Porch lights, a holy candelabra, / Cigarette incense wafting towards the watching moon. 

To be human is to love the sound of your own voice, to be transfixed by the telling Of your story. Our Stories are the first way that we embody god; the first way that we learn their name is through hearing our own. If you are afraid to speak, too little or too much, remember that the world was spoken into being. Our Stories are our Shapers; we shape ourselves through them. We do not so much manifest things outside ourselves as we manifest them in our mouths. What do you emb

What does it mean to be in Love? How do you know when it has happened to you? Who has the right to say? Why must it be that Love must last until, when? Forever? Feelings aren’t facts, and impermanence is our reality; must we make forever out of our Love for it to be real? I would like forever. Someone who will wake up morning after morning and choose me, again and again. I want it for its predictability, the steadiness of it. A promise and then an action, an equation repeatin