It isn't that darkness follows the light, or that the light here needs to leave. It isn't that the feel of ionized air and the least of breezes, or that chilling your bared flesh feels too much like what you taste of love. It isn't the density of the wood or the pressure of the sounds that spill and spill. It is only that anything you can carry is a weight, even if only the weight of your held breath. Even if it is only the shine of reflected eyes upon your skin.
Now every word you held back is the prize you can not give away. The left unsaid and the left undone the same. So you choose instead to push on through these itchy sheaves of letters, wind your eyes tight around each curve and line. You shoulder aside words, your meaning all that really matters. You read these wishes like you would give everything left to write them now. Being everything you have to give until at last it is clear and bright.
Feel the tightness in your chest, the strength of your intent hand moving flesh and bone pressing so very near your heart. Feel the release and the radiance, the pleasure of know the grace of these shifting plates. The place where every burden at long last lifts you, and your weight is displaced by the draw of your shine. Where finally the things you never said are free.
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