Waterfalls: Here’s To Not Chasing Them

January 10th, 2016 § 0 comments


There is a girl. She evokes.

The usual bridges you cross to a heart—read her Charles Wright, show her the moon on a clear night—she’s not interested.

Here’s what you know.
You find her attractive. She is sharp. A generous smile. A big softie.
She isn’t afraid to show you attention. Her soul is her comfort is her skin.

Your heart pounds out of fear. In your hand you hold a tiny shred of romantic possibility. To keep it, to grow it, you must manage, stretch, thin, bulge. You could palm her the fisheye lens of you. You might be able to make. it. work. And to what end? You’ve threaded with dishonesty before. It dissolves in stitches, evidenced by scars. You would recover, of course. But with more of the same.

So you talk. You are frank. There is a little something else mixed in. She agrees. Here’s where, historically, you would drag that something out. To stretch it so it blankets all other thoughts and feelings. A thin membrane, ultimately too thin for the sharp points. Here’s where you would chase the winning and find a thousand little failures.

Together, individually, you decide to let it ride. What happens if you let it ride? You don’t know.

There is a relief in leaving it alone. Relief that you have not, once again, hooked yourself to the tenuous. Your heart batter slows,


for this is grace.


And then the seeing. Seeing where stumbling by the lamplight has led, a new bridge (not one still swinging from your last crossing), a friendship just begun. Here’s to radical nourishment, to true ambition, to the bare-naked intimacy of friendship. You could have sold yourself short, so so short. Let’s see what happens when you don’t.



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