Photo by Josh Willink
Love staved off the danger that would have taken me. Was it the same for her? The question of choice comes to mind. What was our choice in this matter? We were given none except how to execute our way of being, its requirement to the nature around us/ and if it is necessary to pierce everything so that it bleeds, to know its blood, I will seek to understand without losing myself to its coils. Perhaps strength will find me before death.
Give me heart that I might surrender. I don't want for this air. She loves you and I love her for that. I can't fault the air who she is, no more than what is not mine to be faulted. I can't say this is too negative, too poisonous, too disrespectful. I can hope for a future where our words will not sound contemptuous when uttered. Where my faults, the ones I've earned, are the ones heard, not a condition brutally changed through harsher weather than I am experienced.
Please don't succumb to the thorns of this pressing humidity. I don't want to die, and if I could refuse this atmosphere all together I would/ but I would not survive/ to provide its resistance/ whether or not it is accepted is a condition I cannot dictate nor will I try, only that I must receive you as you, all of you that I can allow.
I cannot make fair a creature who has lost her cub or declare the desert to take back its heat and return the graves from its sands. The blood I have lost I have given, if it means we are aloud our life. And it is ours.