Have you forgotten the days when you were ash, when you lay in shadows and glittered in the mist of the moonlit night?
And your walk was humble on the ground, and you saw a miracle in a single rose and magic in the stars?
Love- my dearest.
It has always grasped you and sheltered you even when you were ash burned from the fire of a most passionate love.
You know how low one can go, low enough to think I have died and reincarnated and simply remembering that-
everything seems beautiful… like the bird singing on my windowsill this morning, up on the 11th floor of this loud city of Los Angeles, was beautiful.
Just moments of self-reflection and remembrance of the pain this peasant heart has rooted from.
love, my dearest.