Written on the evening velvet, those words flew into the night through the vents of the car, gasping wider as I unfolded from sitting behind the wheel. Vacant and at peace, I headed toward the front door across the old gravel drive.
All this trust in something greater than myself should teach me that Love cannot run out or end. It can redirect, and run a course, glide, trip, waltz, stumble and even impatiently hesitate but it never truly runs out. It jogs away. It turns around. It walks into the fog. It does not run out. It is always there, perpetual…just, sometimes, not the way we want it or hope to experience its presence.
This time, after the hiatus, is already different. This time, nothing for granted, including my worth.
This time aware and present, Love visits, perches.
It does not run out, it does not fly away.