An opening; followed by a closing.

A pattern revisited again and again.

Year to year; moment to moment.

Where tears once flowed, are now dried remnants of their path.

Where heartache once resided, is now a smooth rhythm.

Where once hoped for difference, is now at peace with what is.

There is a lull in the shift; a closure, where once was broken open.

I question in which state it is easier to move through the world.

There is something about heart-bursting, palpable discomfort.

There is something about knowing everything will be okay, and discovering why that is.

Like working with your hands—there is connection in the motion and movement.

In the doing. In the creating and exploring.

In scraping the idea and starting again.

In following the path of your medium as it unfolds in your hands.

And so I sit.

I watch my heart open, and close.

I watch my mind wander, and wonder.

I watch my storyline unfold, like a tale to be told through the ages.

And then I return.

To the place it started; to the place it’s always been.

An opening; followed by a closing.

The ebb and flow.

Like ocean waves, who uncover, and recover, again and again.

Baring it’s soul upon the sand.

Tiny fragments piece together the story, like a tale to be told through the ages.

And then it returns.

The ocean becomes an ocean again; it’s sole purpose to uncover, and recover.

And to exist in the space between the two.

Where the lull happens in the shift; a closure, where once was broken open.

To trust that the pause is infinite; and yet is it?

…and so i sit.

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Ed: Bryonie Wise

{Photo: via Pinterest}