un painting (or, oh! how friendly the frightful future).

driving home alone in the dark, i finally began to see clearly.

i wonder if not crying at endings is faking bravery. that it might be proper to mourn an ending, more as a quiet and unusual celebration to a new beginning than letting a heart crack a little more under that pressure.

vagabond hearts, do we ever find a home?

answer me, please, universe.

i'm in love with the idea of beginnings. tonight i revisted an old part of my life, but in brand new company.

it was a new reality.

so as i take a breath and finally pass from one stage to another, i'm learning to be at peace. to bid the old a fond farewell, but to look forward to a new vision. one that's just starting to take shape.

i really think - if i let it - it could be quite beautiful.
delicately so.
but beautiful.