I’ve been craving this moment.

Write…

Write it down she keeps repeating to me in her thick greek accent.

As she makes the hand motion with both her hands to keep writing never stop…

you understand me? she says.

A little. I replied.

I let it sit in more and i let her glance enter my soul as a full on read.

A first class ticket for her to guide and tell me what i am missing in these past few days I’ve been trying to examine. When i travel it gives me a chance to set the everyday responsibilities on a shelf and examine things i tend to put above the clouds, I look deep and pull out the things i’d rather deny myself during a daily cycle. I feel i am true to myself daily but i need to remind myself I am constantly growing. This weekend i found a way to progress and it wasn’t from the watchings of an anti idol it was the idol if i had to label him. My return prompted a much needed run in with the Greek voice which would later turn into my confirmation of what i greatly ponder on daily. Can i really write? to help? to learn? to watch myself grow?is it okay to just want to record so i don’t forget?

“You write to Remember. You constantly remember because you have a fear you will forget. So you keep writing…”

My mouth dropped at his deep understanding of me. Even understandings i knew nothing of. He answers the questions i sign in my subconscious. I’m constantly devouring the words he lets grace my presence. Sometimes he filters but some times i catch him in a state. I beg myself to remember. Never forget him. Never forget his words. He’s my michelangelo from afar. Metaphorically speaking. He sculpts away and all he gives are his kinds words and enchanted smile.

I have whispered the phrase “forgive him Lord for he knows not what he does to me.” through years of pain,stubbornness and misunderstandings. I have been lifted by my counter part and thrown down into a pit of insecurities i didn’t develope on my own but fixed. This guidance has never done such a thing to make me question his distant wisdom. I whisper “Bless Him Lord for he knows not what he does for me,” when i feel his hand on my shoulder. As fascinated as i am with him he ponders at me as if i am standing behind a glass display,reading between the lines of my description at the bottom, he smiles radiance when he gets deeper down into the death rooms. The place i keep locked up and dare not wander he can access with a glance.

I don’t mind…
my eyes wander up to see his…
I know you won’t do what the others do…
Judgement is not his demeanor…
Just understanding…
-//-

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