jo * ([personal profile] northsea) wrote2010-11-13 02:26 pm


so often now the feeling that love is like a small shy bird. you see it darting, flickering, around you, & somehow, though you cannot & never have, you know the truth of flight, and yearn for it. and sometimes it will settle somewhere near, and you are fearful, for the smallest movement will startle it away - so that you dare not blink or breathe nor even make the slightest sound. the camouflaging, the erasing, the effacement of the self. and sometimes - oh, but rarely; oh, but sometimes - it works; the bird pauses, remains; feeds from your softly outstretched hand, and the quiet, the sudden, unexpected beauty of it all holds you enraptured. but this, still, is fleeting; this too shall pass. and if you wish the bird to settle (if you wish the bird to stay), then you must become a nest - a place from which it might fly out into the world, bright with song; but at dusk, and as the light wanes, to which it shall return.