If I could tell you everything, I would.
Two days ago, while driving to the park with the large hill overlooking the water and littered with the rusty things that remind me of home, I was listening to a podcast that mentioned a phrase I had never heard before. I believe it may be from Shakespeare. (I've meant to read him ever since you told me that his writing, in its historical context, was never for the pompous assholes that talk about him now.) The phrase, from what I understand, denotes the decorating of something already gorgeous. The unnecessary quality of adding rouge to the sculpt of beautiful bones, or the pointlessness of placing a swath of silk underneath a diamond.
I've been thinking about the love one feels for themselves and the love they offer others. I've been thinking about how lucky I have been in being taught such a depth of love from the people in my life that have schooled and molded me over the years.
Will it keep my heart from an acidic squeeze any time I see tenderness between a parent and their child portrayed on television?
Probably not.
But that is part of its beauty.
And that, too, requires no adornment to accentuate the brilliance of its light.
be well; be loved,
k.
(image via misanthropicmessiah tumblr)
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