Dear one, dear to me as the soul,
Your feet have been wounded
i have been reading rumi tonight and rumi always reminds me of you, and you always remind me of love, and how far i have strayed from it these days, because you always carry a light of love with you, even when it flickers in your exhaustion of giving so much to so many.
these days i am sinking into a bituminous bitterness that i do not know how to leave, that is fossilizing me, so i write to you thinking of love because knowing that you are deeply in love is light in itself.
i picture you and your love nestled in caves of blankets and fairy lights, surrounded by poetry and beauty, wildflowers and art you have made or collected. in love like a kind of madness. i hope it is magickal.
today is brigid's day, a day of feminine youth, new hope. there is a candle lit in every room of my apartment. some of them are in broken jars (broken in my folly and haste) but they are filling the windows with light nonetheless.
here is wine for anyone thirsty for love.
We live in a ruin, this body,
Try to wake up from this dream we live.