v u l v a l i c i o u s
though nothing can bring back the hour of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower
I feel melted down. Puddling up at my own feet, a spreading mass of liquid.
All my energy is directed outward, all that heat and love. It gets to be too much. I want to be warmed from the inside out. I want to condense into droplets of water that cling to the window and steam up the mirror.
Springtime can't come too soon. Instead of melted I want to feel green. I want the feeling of reflecting light onto a blade of grass. I want a rainstorm that rolls through the night and leaves the morning blue and aching, light streaming over the clouds like salvation.
I keep waiting for someone to feed me, for something to come along and turn me solid again. It's time to remember that I have to feed myself. That grass doesn't always need another presence to make it grow.