The wings, Beloved, Grown from fluid that fasts and sleeps; Perching butterfly—
I call it journey, you call it metamorphosis. I call it idea, you call it egg. I call it maturity, you call it a born chrysalis. I call it manifestation, you call it developed butterfly. I call it love, you call it commitment. I call it this, you call it that. We look one thing from different points of view and describe it with different disciplines. In fact we are talking about the same thing.
You see a butterfly perching on my shoulder, I see a messenger bringing me a love letter from my beloved telling me:
“Hello, my love. Relax. You are safe. I’m here with you.”
Bruised and scarred she is; A stained-glass window to see Both sides of her world.
22:22 / Sunday – June 6, 2021
I thought all of those were wounds and warts until observing carefully. I’ve been living with a beautiful stained-glass window which puts colours and gives unique perspectives when seeing inside and outside. As long as it doesn’t derail from being a human being, I think I’m blessed.