evaporated amenities

curated kindly : cozy : quaint, little time machine

it's something like waves crashing, all night.

cold cobblestone beneath bare feet, flaky bits of grainy sand clinging to scalp; Pictionary still scattered about.

everywhere one chooses to be, one is surrounded by water. yet curiously, confined within a single island one might literally be, it just so happens that loneliness isn't seeking me.

it's something like that candy-red Tacoma truck somehow always getting stuck. it's tattered seat covers and a cheap blow-up mattress under a canopy of constellations. a marshmallow-feathered, fluffy down comforter concealing us, while we listen to the coyotes' sing all around.

it's waking up next to you.

it's something like seeing the tangerine sun - rise over mountain peaks, watching as the rays kiss that quiet valley before the heavens wake.

it's something like the Uinta's in the heat of the summer; a dessert mirage of light and fire. it's the old, worn down Trek bike with the shotty breaks but you happened to fit, just right.

it's something like Christmas in July. flying around the world in a single night always felt like such a ruse, until i met you.

now, i believe in all miracles - out right.

it's a feeling more than an explanation and often the explaining always ruins the purity of it because it's like a kiss on the forehead; nurturing, soft, subtle yet direct, pure and always potent.

it's something that speaks to your soul from its' own depths,

igniting a balanced contentment within ones spirit; it's created within.

created within us - created around us, by our own hand.

it's not complicated or contrite.

it's something as simple as a sunset, a Sunday morning or an abrupt turn right.

it's something that's cared for and cultivated, not craved because it's our destiny when we are made.

it sounds like church bells in august and it's the face of a lover who eats their first pricky pear.

sherbet-orange shag carpet and the smell of cinnamon sugar on burnt toast.

it's the moonlight on my face, the meadow after it rains and buying a strawberry crème cake every year on your birthday.

- it's sustenance calling me - to me.