In the depth of the early morning a sound nudges me from my dreams.
In my slightly refreshed exhaustion it is as if almost every drop of rain hitting the metal of the roof, every petal of the tulips, the beginnings of the needled lavenders combine to create a melody.
And if I wasn't so wrapped up perfectly in my slumber, not so still sleepy, I could put lyrics to pen and create a song never heard. But the words stir around in my soul, but yet, I cannot pull them completely into my memory for later.
But the melody so perfect, the sound so sweet, it becomes a lullaby, allowing my tired soul to go back into peaceful rest.
But when I arise to take on my day I know the song was sweet, like I could almost see every note flowing from the falling rain when I turned in my bed to face the windows - but I couldn't hum it or replay it in my soul to share if asked. One of those beautiful mysteries that are better left saturating my soul than replayed in a realm that won't capture it perfectly.
-----------------------------
I saw the peaceful turn of your smile as you realized you did not wake for nothing. As your mind processed all the pieces together and the melody took you in.
I know of all the things in this world you have access to in this moment the one thing you love to wrap yourself in is music.
It has been your escape from the pain since you were just a child. The louder it was, the more you could feel it surround you the safer you felt.
But this morning - you didn't need it pushed to 11. You needed it just soft enough to hear as you woke, and yet, it still encased around you.
Instead of a wall to shield you from everything trying to tear you apart, trying to brace the cracks of your heart from the inside out - I wanted to try something new, something when you weren't in control of your environment.
And my plan succeeded. Nudged awake in time to hear a song just for you. One that I knew would make you glad I woke you up. One, that can prove that sometimes, the fortified shield isn't built the way you think it should be.
Rain on a roof; falling on beauty grown with blood, sweat and a few tears; the feel and smell of a fresh, warm spring morning; the memory of singing to the Oriole from the night before; the vocals of the praises of the birds awaking mixing to make a symphony.
For you. All for you. Just to see that slight upward turn of a sleepy smile, and finally get a chance to wrap you up my own, sweet, peace filled way.
--------------------------
(C) Kristen Garcia May 5, 2015.
Tuesday, May 5, 2015
Monday, March 30, 2015
You didn't have to die, Judas.
You were one I chose, one who was given to me, to be a part of my most inner circle.
For a season of a few years you walked by my side, shared in my home, saw my joy, heard my laughter - experienced my tears.
You were one of an elect few who saw me in my realest moments - the moments of strength, the moments that took all of my faith to keep walking forward, the moments where it seemed like everyone around me pulled my grace from me until I could no longer walk.
You had the greatest amount of access to me, yet you couldn't - or wouldn't - open your eyes to who I am.
Even seeing the depths of my love, peace and compassion - the expanse of the fire that flows through my bones and the explosiveness of my distaste for the abuse of the vulnerable - you still seethed in anger at me, yet I said not a word.
You waited. Maybe you thought I would break. Maybe you thought I wasn't who I said I was. Maybe you thought at any moment I would become the idol you had built in your mind that you desired me to become.
But I didn't live to those expectations. I kept walking the path ahead of me toward the end goal.
And it was there you had enough. When a jar broke open you saw in your greed money stolen from you that you would no longer have access to.
When a man laughed with me after having no breath in his body for days, your lack of faith drove your heart of stone into a furnace that hardened it more than ever.
And when I looked at you and said to do what was in your cold, hard, evil heart to do to me you stopped in your tracks. A mix of surprise and fear washed through your eyes, followed by a smile that dripped the most pure evil the world had seen. You ran as fast as you could. How could you deny that invitation?
You stalked me to my sanctuary. After I had poured my heart out in love and fasted and prayed for even you - you had eyes on my every move -
And you were waiting-
Waiting to let the blood thirsty hunger that had gone without satiety for years see a chance to drink in deep and quench their dry throats when I was snatched in my tired, weakened state.
Waiting to return my grace with you, my love for you, my silence when I knew you had stolen from me and hardened your heart toward me, with false accusations and a gang ready to beat me down and pay for what transgressions? For the transgression of love toward you? Toward the unlovely? Toward the poorest and greatest of sinners?
Waiting for the chance to greet me with a term of endearment and a kiss that should have carried the security and safety of a brother - but instead was saturated with hate and evil and chilled our friends' souls to the core. Even your kindest words became undeniably wicked and odious.
For a moment you danced with Satan. Perhaps this was all your were born for, but perhaps, you chose to take his hand and let him be the lead of your soul for a season.
But you didn't have to die.
My flesh was ripped open for you, too.
My blood spilled on the ground and on the Mercy Seat was to cover your sins, too.
The love I had to save the thief at my side as I suffocated would not have been restrained from you had you only asked for it.
But instead, when Satan let go of your hand and left you alone on the dance floor, exposed to the world for what you were, you saw yourself for the first time for what you were.
A man who traded love for greed. Who traded peace for internal torture in your mind, spirit and soul. Who traded truth for the lies shown through the filter of his soul and all the pain and lies you had lived.
A man who traded forgiveness for Hell. A man that betrayed the greatest, kindest purest friendship that could have ever existed in time and space.
A man who traded the I AM for bitterness and lust.
You didn't have to die, Judas. My salvation was there and available for you, too. You didn't have to take your own life after seeing the man you became. My life in you would have made it all right. Even in what you did my forgiveness would not have been withheld. All it would have taken was you to ask.
But sometimes, no matter how great the love is made visible to their eyes, no matter how great the miracles are in front of them, no matter how many words of truth are given in harsh and soft love - sometimes, death - or being a walking dead man - is the soul's final decision.
You didn't have to die, Judas. My forgiveness was truly for you, too.
(c) Kristen Garcia - 3-30-15
For a season of a few years you walked by my side, shared in my home, saw my joy, heard my laughter - experienced my tears.
You were one of an elect few who saw me in my realest moments - the moments of strength, the moments that took all of my faith to keep walking forward, the moments where it seemed like everyone around me pulled my grace from me until I could no longer walk.
You had the greatest amount of access to me, yet you couldn't - or wouldn't - open your eyes to who I am.
Even seeing the depths of my love, peace and compassion - the expanse of the fire that flows through my bones and the explosiveness of my distaste for the abuse of the vulnerable - you still seethed in anger at me, yet I said not a word.
You waited. Maybe you thought I would break. Maybe you thought I wasn't who I said I was. Maybe you thought at any moment I would become the idol you had built in your mind that you desired me to become.
But I didn't live to those expectations. I kept walking the path ahead of me toward the end goal.
And it was there you had enough. When a jar broke open you saw in your greed money stolen from you that you would no longer have access to.
When a man laughed with me after having no breath in his body for days, your lack of faith drove your heart of stone into a furnace that hardened it more than ever.
And when I looked at you and said to do what was in your cold, hard, evil heart to do to me you stopped in your tracks. A mix of surprise and fear washed through your eyes, followed by a smile that dripped the most pure evil the world had seen. You ran as fast as you could. How could you deny that invitation?
You stalked me to my sanctuary. After I had poured my heart out in love and fasted and prayed for even you - you had eyes on my every move -
And you were waiting-
Waiting to let the blood thirsty hunger that had gone without satiety for years see a chance to drink in deep and quench their dry throats when I was snatched in my tired, weakened state.
Waiting to return my grace with you, my love for you, my silence when I knew you had stolen from me and hardened your heart toward me, with false accusations and a gang ready to beat me down and pay for what transgressions? For the transgression of love toward you? Toward the unlovely? Toward the poorest and greatest of sinners?
Waiting for the chance to greet me with a term of endearment and a kiss that should have carried the security and safety of a brother - but instead was saturated with hate and evil and chilled our friends' souls to the core. Even your kindest words became undeniably wicked and odious.
For a moment you danced with Satan. Perhaps this was all your were born for, but perhaps, you chose to take his hand and let him be the lead of your soul for a season.
But you didn't have to die.
My flesh was ripped open for you, too.
My blood spilled on the ground and on the Mercy Seat was to cover your sins, too.
The love I had to save the thief at my side as I suffocated would not have been restrained from you had you only asked for it.
But instead, when Satan let go of your hand and left you alone on the dance floor, exposed to the world for what you were, you saw yourself for the first time for what you were.
A man who traded love for greed. Who traded peace for internal torture in your mind, spirit and soul. Who traded truth for the lies shown through the filter of his soul and all the pain and lies you had lived.
A man who traded forgiveness for Hell. A man that betrayed the greatest, kindest purest friendship that could have ever existed in time and space.
A man who traded the I AM for bitterness and lust.
You didn't have to die, Judas. My salvation was there and available for you, too. You didn't have to take your own life after seeing the man you became. My life in you would have made it all right. Even in what you did my forgiveness would not have been withheld. All it would have taken was you to ask.
But sometimes, no matter how great the love is made visible to their eyes, no matter how great the miracles are in front of them, no matter how many words of truth are given in harsh and soft love - sometimes, death - or being a walking dead man - is the soul's final decision.
You didn't have to die, Judas. My forgiveness was truly for you, too.
(c) Kristen Garcia - 3-30-15
Friday, February 27, 2015
Your eyes give you away.
I see that smile.
The one that you think hides the pain. The one that, if you wear it enough, might even convince yourself that you're doing OK.
But your eyes give you away. Your eyes can't mask the pain that a half-forced smile can.
And the pain is real.
The result of broken promises. Broken vows. Betrayal and lies.
What was supposed to be the most secure thing this side of Heaven came crashing down on you.
The pain of long moments, sometimes years, holding onto the hope that if you just made it one more day, the next day would get better - and with enough of those days followed by a few more days it would turn into years not lost to emotional or physical separation - the hope we should all walk in when faced with trial.
But the pain is real.
And your smile - it's not all forced. There is a smile possible when the weight of trying to death-grip hold to faith, to promises, to what you know isn't impossible for God is relieved. Not that you gave up the fight, but that you took a breath and for a moment found the weight lifted.
The beginnings of a genuine smile lie there.
Nights of asking what's next, praying for the recovery of what is teetering on complete loss, waking up the next morning to tackle the world you know as parenthood and career is finally taking it's toll - strength can only be found for so long before a small crack becomes a fissure not easily repaired.
Yet, 'tis not a sign of weakness to cry. A lot. To let the uncertainty that our souls feel come to the surface and for a moment, get the best of us, but sometimes necessary.
For those who mourn cannot be comforted.
Those who never breathe deep can never take in the full measure of refreshment.
Those who never look away from the ground because they're so focused on making sure to avoid the next trap can never be carried by the open hand offered next to them because they can't see it.
A heart that doesn't break can never be mended - and in the mending find healing, strength, and the wisdom to minister the lesson unshakably to someone else.
The Arms of Comfort that want to wrap around you will erase the memory, even if just briefly, of the pain, but can't get around you when the pain becomes your secure feeling and place.
The deep Breath in can open your eyes to see another's soul, and maybe, just maybe, you'll be able to diffuse instead of instigate because you see their pain, their hurt, the demons they are battling and you'll find a grace that might just attempt to mend what little is left in lieu of total destruction.
There is a time to be focused on the traps, but do not forget the beauty around you. Great love can be imparted in a bird singing on a branch; a growing flower in the sidewalk; the pure laughter out of the belly of a child. If you never look around, how will you see? How many moments must you walk with a heart so hard that you refuse to even find the majesty in the simple?
It's OK to laugh in the middle of great pain. It's OK to let your guard down a bit to be in awe of a starry sky, even if it means a few more tears because for a moment, you feel love again.
And yes, that will still hurt in a way. But that's OK. At least you're feeling real love and not the pain of rejection from the one soul on Earth that vowed to God to never walk away. It's a two edged sword, I won't deny it.
But focus on the love - even for a brief moment - so your heart isn't lost for years trying to avoid the other side of that blade. I speak from long years of experience. It's not worth it. Love will always conquer the pain, it just may take a while. Don't grow weary in doing what's greatest.
To be broken. To lay what you cherish the most - that half of you tin whom you invested nights, months, years of tears and prayers and made the choice to stay day after day - on the altar like the child Isaac and know that if the throat is slit and the lifeblood drained that nothing is impossible for resurrection. But you have to put it there in order to get it back.
You have to lay your heart down to be emptied out of the strength you hope everyone sees, the strength you hope you have, the warm blanket that the pain has become, the resolve you have in your heart that every shred of your will has found to exercise.
Only in the moment of that emptiness can your heart and will finally be filled where it won't be sapped by a bad day, a bad word, a triggered memory. You have to make room for the greater. And yes, this typically involves a lot of tears and internal emotional violence, but, new wine is only made in empty skins.
But hang onto the smile. A day will come - and it may not be soon, but I promise you, it WILL come - when it will be genuine. And full. And radiant. And the world will know you are on the other side of the hardest part.
And your eyes will give you away then, too.
©Kristen Garcia 2-27-15
The one that you think hides the pain. The one that, if you wear it enough, might even convince yourself that you're doing OK.
But your eyes give you away. Your eyes can't mask the pain that a half-forced smile can.
And the pain is real.
The result of broken promises. Broken vows. Betrayal and lies.
What was supposed to be the most secure thing this side of Heaven came crashing down on you.
The pain of long moments, sometimes years, holding onto the hope that if you just made it one more day, the next day would get better - and with enough of those days followed by a few more days it would turn into years not lost to emotional or physical separation - the hope we should all walk in when faced with trial.
But the pain is real.
And your smile - it's not all forced. There is a smile possible when the weight of trying to death-grip hold to faith, to promises, to what you know isn't impossible for God is relieved. Not that you gave up the fight, but that you took a breath and for a moment found the weight lifted.
The beginnings of a genuine smile lie there.
Nights of asking what's next, praying for the recovery of what is teetering on complete loss, waking up the next morning to tackle the world you know as parenthood and career is finally taking it's toll - strength can only be found for so long before a small crack becomes a fissure not easily repaired.
Yet, 'tis not a sign of weakness to cry. A lot. To let the uncertainty that our souls feel come to the surface and for a moment, get the best of us, but sometimes necessary.
For those who mourn cannot be comforted.
Those who never breathe deep can never take in the full measure of refreshment.
Those who never look away from the ground because they're so focused on making sure to avoid the next trap can never be carried by the open hand offered next to them because they can't see it.
A heart that doesn't break can never be mended - and in the mending find healing, strength, and the wisdom to minister the lesson unshakably to someone else.
The Arms of Comfort that want to wrap around you will erase the memory, even if just briefly, of the pain, but can't get around you when the pain becomes your secure feeling and place.
The deep Breath in can open your eyes to see another's soul, and maybe, just maybe, you'll be able to diffuse instead of instigate because you see their pain, their hurt, the demons they are battling and you'll find a grace that might just attempt to mend what little is left in lieu of total destruction.
There is a time to be focused on the traps, but do not forget the beauty around you. Great love can be imparted in a bird singing on a branch; a growing flower in the sidewalk; the pure laughter out of the belly of a child. If you never look around, how will you see? How many moments must you walk with a heart so hard that you refuse to even find the majesty in the simple?
It's OK to laugh in the middle of great pain. It's OK to let your guard down a bit to be in awe of a starry sky, even if it means a few more tears because for a moment, you feel love again.
And yes, that will still hurt in a way. But that's OK. At least you're feeling real love and not the pain of rejection from the one soul on Earth that vowed to God to never walk away. It's a two edged sword, I won't deny it.
But focus on the love - even for a brief moment - so your heart isn't lost for years trying to avoid the other side of that blade. I speak from long years of experience. It's not worth it. Love will always conquer the pain, it just may take a while. Don't grow weary in doing what's greatest.
To be broken. To lay what you cherish the most - that half of you tin whom you invested nights, months, years of tears and prayers and made the choice to stay day after day - on the altar like the child Isaac and know that if the throat is slit and the lifeblood drained that nothing is impossible for resurrection. But you have to put it there in order to get it back.
You have to lay your heart down to be emptied out of the strength you hope everyone sees, the strength you hope you have, the warm blanket that the pain has become, the resolve you have in your heart that every shred of your will has found to exercise.
Only in the moment of that emptiness can your heart and will finally be filled where it won't be sapped by a bad day, a bad word, a triggered memory. You have to make room for the greater. And yes, this typically involves a lot of tears and internal emotional violence, but, new wine is only made in empty skins.
But hang onto the smile. A day will come - and it may not be soon, but I promise you, it WILL come - when it will be genuine. And full. And radiant. And the world will know you are on the other side of the hardest part.
And your eyes will give you away then, too.
©Kristen Garcia 2-27-15
Wednesday, October 22, 2014
Tapestry of Love
There are only some joys that can be shared by words spoken in excitement;
There are times that a silent embrace can impart greater peace than any kind word;
Moments where the look of love in someones eyes can heal years of hurt;
Dances where the feelings from one's heart can be expressed in no other tangible way.
Every way of conversation, whether by touch; by word; by look; It has a season, their own times to be expressed. And each way comes with a color of love - of life - and the tapestry that is woven through the movement of each style paints the pictures of our being.
The boldness of the dance, the softness of the silence; the blinding brightness of excitement and the hushed tones of emotion too deep to be given in words - each balances the other to create a life of love so beautiful everyone who sees it can do nothing but stop and admire.
The rich value of what is seen known only to those who have woven the fibers together. And they who weave settle for no less a value than what truly reflects its worth - the time invested finding the perfects of colors, the mixing of palettes known as making love - a love that reflects the intimate blending and knotting and twisting together of every part of the available mediums needed to create something never seen before - and to never be replicated by anyone, no matter how hard they try.
©Kristen Garcia 10-2014
There are times that a silent embrace can impart greater peace than any kind word;
Moments where the look of love in someones eyes can heal years of hurt;
Dances where the feelings from one's heart can be expressed in no other tangible way.
Every way of conversation, whether by touch; by word; by look; It has a season, their own times to be expressed. And each way comes with a color of love - of life - and the tapestry that is woven through the movement of each style paints the pictures of our being.
The boldness of the dance, the softness of the silence; the blinding brightness of excitement and the hushed tones of emotion too deep to be given in words - each balances the other to create a life of love so beautiful everyone who sees it can do nothing but stop and admire.
The rich value of what is seen known only to those who have woven the fibers together. And they who weave settle for no less a value than what truly reflects its worth - the time invested finding the perfects of colors, the mixing of palettes known as making love - a love that reflects the intimate blending and knotting and twisting together of every part of the available mediums needed to create something never seen before - and to never be replicated by anyone, no matter how hard they try.
©Kristen Garcia 10-2014
Friday, October 3, 2014
Goliath Will Fall
You come out with your booming voice, the reverberation jolting my heart out of a peaceful rest.
All was well and now I'm fighting everything in me that wants to fly away.
You mock the very thing that has brought such a richness of happiness to my soul.
That unbreakably happy girl that ran away and hid in the back corner of my heart had just come back out into a shadowy view and once again, at the sound of the voice, she bolts into the darkness.
I don't have the victory over bear or lion. I have yet to rip them in half with my hands - and there comes the strength to know that which mocks me can be killed at my hand.
And how can I? Every time I thought I had slain that which came to devour what I had within my watch, I stand my ground, only to find it is not the hungry eyes I'm staring at that takes me down.
No, it's the one on the other side of that fight that walks away. Left on my own once again. So the stare down ends in a stalemate, only to be picked up years later when the opportunity presents itself.
You can only be thrown away so many times before that confidence is shaken. It takes years and being thrown into a similar situation to realize it was a draw - you never did win - even though the reverberation had been silenced.
And yet, when the situation becomes different, when it looks like finally a united front, that confidence flees faster than ever when the giant comes with his history to mock and drive fear between my joy and the past.
All the rational evaluation in the world cannot silence the piercing words. And at that point it comes down to the failing attempt at drowning out the doubt, the fear, the idea that once again a stalemate will be drawn in pain. There is not enough work and distraction in the world anymore to forget and push it away.
No. This time, no matter what happens on the other end of the battle line, there will be no stalemate.
Goliath will be silenced.
Even if no one will join me on the line, I'll have his sword in my armory and his head on a staff proudly declaring his death.
Fear shall not win. The mockery of dreams will not shatter what I know to be real.
This time, the rock of the promise will shatter the skull and the Camp of the Righteous will erupt with celebration.
It's time for fear to die. No more draws. Never again. The last stronghold must fall.
©Kristen Garcia 10-2014
All was well and now I'm fighting everything in me that wants to fly away.
You mock the very thing that has brought such a richness of happiness to my soul.
That unbreakably happy girl that ran away and hid in the back corner of my heart had just come back out into a shadowy view and once again, at the sound of the voice, she bolts into the darkness.
I don't have the victory over bear or lion. I have yet to rip them in half with my hands - and there comes the strength to know that which mocks me can be killed at my hand.
And how can I? Every time I thought I had slain that which came to devour what I had within my watch, I stand my ground, only to find it is not the hungry eyes I'm staring at that takes me down.
No, it's the one on the other side of that fight that walks away. Left on my own once again. So the stare down ends in a stalemate, only to be picked up years later when the opportunity presents itself.
You can only be thrown away so many times before that confidence is shaken. It takes years and being thrown into a similar situation to realize it was a draw - you never did win - even though the reverberation had been silenced.
And yet, when the situation becomes different, when it looks like finally a united front, that confidence flees faster than ever when the giant comes with his history to mock and drive fear between my joy and the past.
All the rational evaluation in the world cannot silence the piercing words. And at that point it comes down to the failing attempt at drowning out the doubt, the fear, the idea that once again a stalemate will be drawn in pain. There is not enough work and distraction in the world anymore to forget and push it away.
No. This time, no matter what happens on the other end of the battle line, there will be no stalemate.
Goliath will be silenced.
Even if no one will join me on the line, I'll have his sword in my armory and his head on a staff proudly declaring his death.
Fear shall not win. The mockery of dreams will not shatter what I know to be real.
This time, the rock of the promise will shatter the skull and the Camp of the Righteous will erupt with celebration.
It's time for fear to die. No more draws. Never again. The last stronghold must fall.
©Kristen Garcia 10-2014
Sunday, July 14, 2013
Work in Progress.
There is a reason the world seems more at rest under a thick layer of misty fog.
Anticipation, but first peace. A comfort is found in the weight of what should be its normal state.
By the wrong of one the whole world began to shrivel and die, but the weight of the fog reminds the ground that soon restoration will be found.
Like the temple being pressed down under the glory, the death and decay shall be pressed and destroyed one day under a greater glory.
The habitation of glory. The erasing of all that has destroyed. The pausing of death. Through the mist that reminds of how thick the incense of worshipful prayer should be, the shadow of how pressing the glory should be calls out to us.
Let My praises fill the Earth. Never cease to thicken the atmosphere with that which allows Me to inhabit and shake off all that I have dominion over. All that I have created desires My presence to fall and eliminate for all time the curse that struck down the cycle of life. See the mist. See the fog.
See the way it diffuses the light of the sun. Every ray goes a thousand directions as will my power if you fill the Earth with my praises and worship me.
Let the thickness and beauty of the mist always be a reminder to you of the power and presence of your worship.
©Kristen Garcia 7-2013
Anticipation, but first peace. A comfort is found in the weight of what should be its normal state.
By the wrong of one the whole world began to shrivel and die, but the weight of the fog reminds the ground that soon restoration will be found.
Like the temple being pressed down under the glory, the death and decay shall be pressed and destroyed one day under a greater glory.
The habitation of glory. The erasing of all that has destroyed. The pausing of death. Through the mist that reminds of how thick the incense of worshipful prayer should be, the shadow of how pressing the glory should be calls out to us.
Let My praises fill the Earth. Never cease to thicken the atmosphere with that which allows Me to inhabit and shake off all that I have dominion over. All that I have created desires My presence to fall and eliminate for all time the curse that struck down the cycle of life. See the mist. See the fog.
See the way it diffuses the light of the sun. Every ray goes a thousand directions as will my power if you fill the Earth with my praises and worship me.
Let the thickness and beauty of the mist always be a reminder to you of the power and presence of your worship.
©Kristen Garcia 7-2013
Let the Treasure Return - 6-1-13
Take my hand.
Let me look at you. See you from all vantage points.
Do a little spin and let your dress swirl its colors around.
A small turn and a rush of beauty. Let my hand guide you near me.
You love me. You truly love me.
But yet, I have to work so hard to see a smile. Why can't it come easier? Why can't it be an instant reaction?
Let me hold you close. If I smile enough at you will it eventually be enough to break through the life; the weight of what I have placed on you?
Or has it been so long since you knew deep sourced happiness that the battle will be long and hard fought - yet won - to see it return to you?
It is you I come home to.
Past the thousands of screaming fans that idolize me, but have no desire to remain with my heart - it is you I come home to.
A place of love. Of being searched out in my mind and heart. To a place where I can just be.
To spin you into my arms. To take in the beauty that makes my heart swell. But without my greatest treasure, is all my effort in vain?
Let my love soak in. Know you are secure by my side and just let me take you in.
Soak in my love and let it raise up the smile of a heart returning to unbreakable happiness.
Breathe.
Spin.
Come close.
Smile
©Kristen Garcia 6-2013
Let me look at you. See you from all vantage points.
Do a little spin and let your dress swirl its colors around.
A small turn and a rush of beauty. Let my hand guide you near me.
You love me. You truly love me.
But yet, I have to work so hard to see a smile. Why can't it come easier? Why can't it be an instant reaction?
Let me hold you close. If I smile enough at you will it eventually be enough to break through the life; the weight of what I have placed on you?
Or has it been so long since you knew deep sourced happiness that the battle will be long and hard fought - yet won - to see it return to you?
It is you I come home to.
Past the thousands of screaming fans that idolize me, but have no desire to remain with my heart - it is you I come home to.
A place of love. Of being searched out in my mind and heart. To a place where I can just be.
To spin you into my arms. To take in the beauty that makes my heart swell. But without my greatest treasure, is all my effort in vain?
Let my love soak in. Know you are secure by my side and just let me take you in.
Soak in my love and let it raise up the smile of a heart returning to unbreakable happiness.
Breathe.
Spin.
Come close.
Smile
©Kristen Garcia 6-2013
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