We are growing. But unintentionally, we are going downhill, feeling the stones on the road, opening wounds.
We are growing and we don’t have good news. We don’t have much to celebrate. They tell us that time is over, we won’t be anything. But we grew up.
I still hold your hand and while this is my truth, is my coordinates. I’ll have a point to go. I’ll be great. Walking without letting go of our struggles, our crashes, because they make us more, bigger, keep us holding hands tied, eyes closed and quiet heart.
While I can look for you, while we can be the ground, the sky. While we can be sufficient, unique, eternal.
We are alive and don’t become silent.