My soulmate once wrote me a poem. I want to keep it forever.
A jangley jaunty energetic tune.
Or a muted dark silence.
There are no in-betweens.
Brought up and learnt to subsist on the impressions of love,
But little of the practice.
Tightly wound control, under pressure, pushes back. A metal coil which springs and wounds.
You have the appreciation for multi coloured madness,
But not the courage for the unexpected. . .Yet.
Give control a back seat.
You have autonomy over nothing.
There is joy and texture in endings, chaos and mess.
My funny, sad girl.
Will find her way.
But first she needs to lose it.