My creative soul emerges when the house is swept and death is at the doorway.
These bits of truth don’t make themselves available when I’m attached to the past, they require the utmost surrender, and the absolute embrace.
If I hold onto anything, the universe just stares me down, knowingly waiting for me to open my arms to it.
After curling up for the winter, I have to stretch my limbs to remember the chaotic place that feels like roots - solid and deep, unshakeable.
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