I am a flight risk. I am a wrench in the machine of conformity and I will not linger where my soul is starved or where the air sucks breath and life from these bones. I will run rampant and unrestrained into the great unknown fueled by the unbridled passions that flow in these veins.
I love Spring. I love the feeling before the chill has warmed from the world and the forest has an air of restlessness lingering over it eager to emerge after Winters long slumber. The trees are caught somewhere between beginning to bud and bursting dramatically into being.
Woman of fire, there are no half-measures when it comes to you. You are woven of too much hell-fire for that. There is too much thunder rolling in your veins to silence your soul-deep roar. There is too much lightning flashing in your eyes to settle your gaze on anything less than your deepest desire.
Dear one, I can see how your tired soul aches, heavy with the weight of a thousand lonely lifetimes. You yearn for a love that calls to the fabric of your very being, to the truest parts of yourself. You wonder sometimes whether real love exists as you sift through threads of the past and let go of old expectations, ancient memories and hearts that were never meant to be yours.