lungs of ink-washed nights;
her breath; sight. motive, clarity.
Fib. Poetry and Portraiture
hiding in a living dream
Notoriously nights are haunting. Sleepless nights from dusk to dawn. Breathless burdens; eyes awake! I rise before any yawn.
That was me. Deathly afraid to sleep.
Fears faded as we allowed them too. I believe they did not really want to stay. They knew it was time to go. The original terror gone. The fear knew the world was safer. The fear knew I did not need it.
It was I who held so tightly. Squeezing. It was the only thing I knew? When this is true, what else do you hold on too? How could you trust that there was anything else?
Fear becomes safety. Your mind tells you fear will set you free. That is the lie. Truth will set you free. Not just you. but fear itself. It is trapped just like you.
I gave it respect. I gave it; its due. I gave it what I wanted for myself. Sleep.
and it came true.
paint much love, always,
Connie Karleta Sales
a.k.a. This Crooked Little Flower