If only

There is a gentle sadness
when you leave
A place where your beauty and presence transcends
Where your soul still whispers
a waft, a memory
a trace
It feels so close
If only I could reach
If only I could touch your grace.

https://themindsjournal.com/if-only/

 

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The void

There is a cool in the whisper
A puncture that deepens
In the void
Where our feelings go
Desolation, isolation
And yet still
We fall down
Where the crevices ripen
Where thoughts are hushed
Where we are peeled to our bones
Where we are bare and waiting
For a loving touch.

https://themindsjournal.com/the-void/

 

 

 

 

 

Let your greatest pain, be your most irresistible asset

https://themindsjournal.com/let-greatest-pain-irresistible-asset/

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Her rawness and pain is a hushed superpower.

Her aura breathes a beauty like no other.  Oozing from within is an incredible ethereal splendor that many can feel but only the special can understand.

For, you see, she is a unique patchwork of experiences, both beautiful AND dark.

Unknowingly breathing a fragile magnificence. A tantalizing mix of wisdom and desire, strength and fragility.

But, you see, she was once been broken by life. The kind of suffering that can spread through the veins to the very remotest of cores. The kind that brings a lingering sorrow deep inside and smolders living embers quietly in their tracks. It is an inaudible relentless grief that can only ever gradually fades.

But…Though once her greatest nemesis, it unwittingly, became the greatest of gifts; seeing into the eyes of others. Feeling their history, their aches, and their journey. The ability to recognise pain, yet intrinsically, exquisitely, know what lay ahead for them.

She knows their ride is only just beginning.

This gives her an authenticity, a compassion, a softness that draws others to her.

In unfolding their depths, she can feel their torment and in their darkest, in the black, ignite the impossible; the smallest of lights.

Her warmth is a glowering promise that spreads like a forest fire.

Her kindness, her compassion, one can feel, one can know, she will keep them safe.  She is the healer gifting away their pain as a baptism, the treasure chest of giving.

Because, she knows, this is the understanding of love growing. By sharing the hurt, they can rise together.

Her demons are ever present though; a torrent of inner monologues, streams of memory and pain that are overridden by an elegant softness. Providing a graceful tenderness to all that came near.

She knows about the knives in one’s skull, their veracity, the need to heal. Like a shipwrecks plaque, she knows the importance of embracing the hurt and strength in the recovering of letting go.

For even at 2am, when sleep is evasive, she concentrates her efforts on noticing the misty moon and all its genius. Even in the hail, she delights in the sting on her face. For although pain can put a cage on her mind, like the bitter wind, she knows, it is never too long before it does pass.

Much like the innocence of a child, she marvels at the reflection of jasmine in the rain pool, she makes the moon blush with her thoughts and she can dream at the promise of sunrise.

She whispers to the world all that she had lost, but in herself, her strengths, she knows what lies beneath and what can crystalize, metamorphose, if one has time to cure, if one had love, if one was temporarily carried.

So, she is true to herself.

Never forgetting the reminder of how precious life could be. Always remembering, how one’s exquisiteness is always blazing quietly, awaiting to be unearthed and reborn.

If one can believe. If one could heal. If one can know.

So, her soul always remains. Kind. Giving. Authentic.

Once broken, forever beautiful.

What is your beauty?