This summer is defined by conversations. By late nights. By the words you didn’t plan to say.
From the beginning we have been grappling with the grittiness of humanity. There it is in all its glory: bare knuckles connecting with flesh. We are schooled by life–knocked out cold and flat on the pavement. Reality rears its head and it all comes crashing down.
We’re left with shattered pieces–broken, bruised, barely breathing. And yet, somehow we pick ourselves up, slightly more worse for wear and we carry on, for fuck’s sake, because at least if we keep putting one foot in front of the other, there’s the hope we might get somewhere.
Anything is better than standing still. If you’re moving, it hurts less. You can focus on getting ahead and not the moment. The moment is miserable. Moving keeps up going.
We look for connections. To share. To talk. To build trust & relationships and to find someone who will listen.
This is the summer of love–of discovering at the end of the day it really is all you have to give.
Love is in the listening, it seems. It sits patiently and is present in the moment. It relives it there and it hears, sees, smells, feels. Love floods the room when the story takes shape. And it wraps it up in its arms and shares the weight and settles down in the pit of your stomach and behind your eyes and breaks open your heart.
Love is won in the moments when trust gives way. When for no logical reason you find your mouth open and the words spilling out, faster than you realize. They pierce the silence, they fill the empty spaces, bouncing and refracting off surfaces. They fill the distance, the gaps. The words make a bridge beyond time, beyond space or sense. And someone is there, suddenly, watching your life with you. They are the hand you didn’t have to hold, the tears no one saw fall, the hug you never got.
And that’s where the moments we’re running from begin to slowly be redeemed–the moments when love steps in and bends down to the ground to help you back up.
