Thursday, November 5, 2009

What is real?

Sorrow is made real by the tears I shed, joy by the laughter that bubbles to the surface, pride by the praise that escapes my lips, pain by the suffering that consumes me, and faith by the gratitude that my soul cannot contain.

What of time?

Through memories, measured by the desire to make more. And in withdrawing to summon them, I know that it is time that pushes them inward.

What of space, the distance between two people?

Through touch. Not by the hand, but by the warm glow that embraces me and sizzles on my skin. The ethereal presence that invades the air, casts a shadow in the absence of light... solid as scent.

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