February 7

A year ago today, I wasn't here. I was far away. The canvas was the Himalayas, I was on dusty roads, I was listening to horns and the only thing I could smell was the horrific aroma of the trash river a few feet away from my apartment. But most importantly, a year ago today was the day that I met the boys in the street, and what I wrote down was, "It wasn't until the moment that they were running at me screaming my name that I realized how much I need them." I feel so far from them now, and my need for them is something I find hard to understand.

What they helped me understand is that I have a well inside of me,
and when it is tapped into, waters come forth and they give me new life. I am missing them too much today, and finding it impossible to tap into this part of myself on my own. What I need to understand now, is that I will see them again.

The words I wrote out a year ago today were this:
We'll pray for Heavens floor to break,
pour the brightest white on blackest space,
Come bleeding gloriously through,
the clouds and the blue.
Forcing one thing from two,
killing formulaic views,
only love proves to be the truth.

Things are certainly a bit different now,
but my prayer always remains for heavens floor to break.