This space is yours. I prepared it just for you. I hung my heart in frames on these white walls hoping you would linger long enough to experience this simple truth:
I love you.
Stay awhile, if you'd like—kick off your shoes. It's a grand estate, but comfortable too. You'll find peace down the hall, a library of love beneath the stairs, whole dream worlds exist within every breath in of fresh air.
When you've explored for awhile—feel settled and inspired, I'll be resting on the back porch, waiting for you to inquire. There's a seat just for you, a glass of tea to get us started. I can't wait to hear your story, to listen, to help you write it.
One day, when you're married, you'll leave this space—yet your story will stay and I'll grow quite fond of visiting it—in the library beneath the stairs, where dream worlds appear and I'll never forget your name, the way you made your mark here.
This space is yours. I prepared it just for you. I hung my heart in frames on these white walls hoping you would linger long enough to experience this simple truth:
I love you.
Stay awhile, if you'd like—kick off your shoes. It's a grand estate, but comfortable too. You'll find peace down the hall, a library of love beneath the stairs, whole dream worlds exist within every breath in of fresh air.
When you've explored for awhile—feel settled and inspired, I'll be resting on the back porch, waiting for you to inquire. There's a seat just for you, a glass of tea to get us started. I can't wait to hear your story, to listen, to help you write it.
One day, when you're married, you'll leave this space—yet your story will stay and I'll grow quite fond of visiting it—in the library beneath the stairs, where dream worlds appear and I'll never forget your name, the way you made your mark here.
I hear the rush of water cascade down the peaks of each roof, the ice finally relenting after a week of frozen isolation. In the same way, my shoulders soften in the light of the warm sun. My jaw loosens from its unconscious hold. Even deeper, my soul seems to widen and swell—breaking loose of the cold cocoon it had subjected itself to when the days grew darker quicker. The release is slowly, slowly and then altogether suddenly. I am struck by the definitive sound and reminded of the whisper that found me in my stillness midst the mountains of Alp Grüm—the very last moment before I came home. “Why do we try to evolve what evolves itself in time? Why do I try to sanctify what God has already made pure?”
