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| {found this via my dear rain. artist anyone?} |
so little is sure.
and so we clutch planners and calenders and count days on our fingers and toes and say
i will.
we will.
this will.
and then it comes and all has changed.
twenty one years can change a lot of all i thought i knew.
here is not here sixteen years ago. dreams were not these, and life was not these cobblestones.
it was all me. not this.
i dreamed of perfection of jots and tittles. of smooth roads and transplanted potholes.
i never dreamed of free thoughts or casting capitalization away and making rational thought from these fluttering butterflies. that university would fade into a "maybe someday" and i would consider dreadlocks from this smoothness.
i never dreamed in peeling paint and bare toes and paintbrush bristles and jewel tones.
i should have.
a conversation with my sister. her eighteen to my twenty and one. us both shaking heads and laughing.
did you see us here? as artists?
neither of us did.
so little is sure.
i like this new me, i think. no, i know i do. i didn't know how hard it would be. but that's alright. because He knows. and i'm learning this dance of trust and
yes, Lord and Thy will.
so now we're sister artists. photographer, writer. long hair swept up in scarves and learning to touch Heaven from earth again.
and we bury our dayplanners and say, if He wills.
we follow now.
these sister artists.
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| {again linking this imperfection with love} |
