Before you fuck up and call her anything less than her name, before you grab her by the arm you need to know the trigger that you are pulling at. You need to know that the safety is never on. You need to know her history before you tell me that this isn’t my business. You need to know that her history is my history.
See, she and I, we come from the tribe of raw knuckled little girls who call our father by their first names and wear their mothers like bruise coloured war paint under eye. We grew thick skin before we grew permanent teeth. We learned to piece together our own families in the backyards of rented duplexes where we promised plastic faced babies better things in soothing tones that we mimicked from TV. We do not have daddy issues even though our daddy’s have issues. We have piercing eyes and promises to keep. We grew up to be nomads surveying domestic war zones with black eyeliner binoculars, always refusing to camouflage. We threw our heads back and laughed at oncoming explosions, never flinched, absorbing shrapnel, never let them see us cry.
We do not dream of boys who will save us from towers. We dream of boys with courage caked under their fingernails. Boys with hands rough enough to wipe metal tears from our faces but warm enough to mold them into stars. Boys with vertebrae strong enough to lock with ours so they can sleep sitting back to back with us and keep watch. And these are the boys, these are the boys who will find love under our armor. These are the boys who will find that we love selectively but we love fiercely. These are the boys who will learn that we love in ways that leave claw marks down the baseboard before we ever let go.
So do not think she doesn’t know how you fear her absence - you should. Your cage is not stronger than her will or her smile. Do not think you are good enough to tame her. You aren’t. And do not think you are the first to try because i have already closed your eyes and crossed your arms before your body hit the floor. And you think she deserves better than you. You are right. So be better than you.
Be thankful that she knows your name and be careful never to forget hers."
M. Gungor “The Crowd, The Critic, and The Muse” (via radiance-in-the-shadowland)
John 8: 1–11. About the woman taken in adultery. What did Jesus write on earth? People assume that he wrote down the accusers’ sins. Now why would he do that?
They threatened him with Mosaic law, which says that the adulteress must be stoned. That law was written in stone. The letter, the sign were the first manifestations of the law. But He wanted to show them that the written law is empty if it bears no relation to the living. He wrote his signs in sand, in the dust of stones, which the wind might scatter at any moment. “Here are your laws,” His writing said. The Doctor of both laws. Mosaic law written in stone and the law of love written in sand. It couldn’t be carved into stone without becoming a dead letter. Every stone they meant to throw at that living woman held letters from the smashed stone tablets. People write in stone to make their letters last. God doesn’t hesitate to cast his word on the wind, since he knows it won’t be lost."