again words fail me
i am wanting you to carry the weight
but i still hold it in my own hands
and turn away from you with any suggestion of transfer.

the story fact truth of the woman at the well helps me feel think know what rest is

time out.
i cant hold it the way that you do, it doesnt become me
(and i am afraid that it does not become you either, my friend).
those words that are carelessly falling out of your mouth are not words to be treated like candy
(staining your teeth and your tongue)
or cigarettes
(as we all cough from your secondhand smoke).
if you want to push it into my system without my compliance
neither us will be the better after the exchange.
it means a lot to me
i cant throw it around for fear of throwing it away.
when i speak, i want it to mean something
so that ears wont be closed due to endless mindless repetition.
this something is grace, coming from a death that i wont turn into a pop song.

i have often forgotten that, while time is elapsing,
the words i couldnt remember before are becoming more vivid
and i am able to speak with a certainty i did not expect to have.

travel still makes my eyes shine more brightly.