Waiting
There’s no sound more glorious
than the first DROP,
when the stars hide
and skies shower prayers back,
answering the outstretched
who wait barefoot,
because it’s been long enough to
let go.
...
This is a poem I wrote a while ago, but I feel like it's more true to my experience than anything I could write now. My words just don't work like they should when I try to convey life here. I know it's difficult for you all to understand what I'm doing here, but my hands are tongue-tied whenever I try to get it down. It's too vast, too raw, too everything. I promise I'll keep trying.
Miss you guys.
Peace.
