hopewriting

I need to shape up, get started, take all that fire from the moment and use it. I started this for you, and I will be bold for you, even if that is only simple words, no cascade, or colour, or lightning within—it still crackles. The truth cannot be scared to stand only on itself, and therein still remains my weakness. But you believe, and you smile, even when I paint devils, even when I only strike as hell. I'm closing my eyes, trying to make it—yet so sure in my thoughts!

The purpose for all of this was to keep you safe—two years—234 messages—your name divining the light. I can be slow there, knowing you have come to be so happy, so I should stand here now, rise to breathe against the flame. but I still tremble, and show cracks—the thoughts of others terrify me. (the fire!) I am trying to show—map—depict the calm, the chaos, the shift of—(take heart. think of beauty. say the love out loud.)

All right, this is going to be ugly now. (a breath of pavement.) I started this for one, but I know there are so many, and that there can never be too much love, that wants to be reached.

You—I am in debted that your eyes even pass here. I imagine you small and strange, but a blaze of life, hope mapped on your palms. (a breath of storms.) Are you small? I won't tell you to be brave. But imagine that your smile is a strength that crashes against the stars! You take the light in. (a breath of sand.) I try to stand up for you, too, as best given from clay, madness, schedule.

The dream of 2011—the year has gone to bed. But this is a dream that survives all that hungry daylight. (a breath of fire.)—shit, fuck, I dwell—I want that we can all be so loud, or thankful, or kind—that smallest kindness can stave someone's war. But it can be hard to be weird, and speak like you are very wounded, or worn, that crown of fortitude. It is hard to be that they can not expect the colour of your flight, take through as easy braille, cast you out as cruel. It can be hard for so very many consequences—weird and ugly and great as you are.

(THE SLEEPING DREAM OF 2011.)

There are great people all around you—I was always fond of the pretty girl at the coat check. But if you look around—I also know the sad lady on the bus (for sometimes you can see the weight of the day hang to her lower lip). If you have fought a war, do you hear all those guns shots? But they don't mark your song. Be more than a soldier but as a traveller. Be more than a well but as an ocean. Be more than dimmed but as the determination of light!

(there is a hole here. I think for the words but they do not come.)

Move outwards as they cut at your branches. Cycle through the memories of sunsets when locked to the night. Sing your ugly song so close to their machines. Tell the stranger they are not.

(a breath of watercolour.)

For those of you who find comfort in PostSecret, this draws from that same hope. We send secrets that find ourselves, but what for the love you feel for the world? The idea will survive the tremors. You can make something real. Is there someone you want to tell such a warmth to? Maybe you will never see them again, or maybe you wish you would, or maybe they are a friend, or a guard, or a lover. Maybe they served you, or maybe they fell over in the train. Maybe their smile was enough. Tell the stranger they are not. Send your message here and I will post them (a string of lights) on Wednesday, anonymously or otherwise. Wednesdays are always hard, always lost, floating somewhere between, but maybe it could be found. And maybe they will never see your words, but kindness always travels quietly. Maybe one day they could find themselves here, on the wings of the infinite, quicksilver fates. I can think that they would smile.

This is the sleeping dream. This makes me blush violently and want to hide, but I remember you. I will replace your bruises with apples, and let them tell you the art of your worth, closer than I could ever draw. And though I know there are only a handful of people who might read this, I can not just rest with my earthquakes. I will try. I hope you will understand. I hope you will be a hopewriter.