As consistent as the flowing tides are, is that frail thing some call the human mind. A catch-all, a spiritual jar; look through it–you can’t imagine what you’ll find. I find, when i look deep into myself, objects forgotten, people and places.

All waiting for the right time to be heard.

This same time last week I spoke with a soul, and the conversation got out of hand. Our words took root and our heads took to flight and we spoke out our minds ’til dawn’s first light. From policies to fallacies and more, from jarred daffodils to gold dill pickles, from the weather report to the whether retort. Of hearts broken, aching, sometimes attacked, of knots and not-to-be’s, and honeybees, one idea melting into the next.

I’m always surprised at where we end up, but I never regret what I’ve said

Talks like these let you see the inside of another person; what makes them tick. You’ve shared a part of yourself; they have too

But I don’t have many talks like that anymore.

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