Dancing in the music in the meadows? That’s what my heart does, and does best. ♥️


Nine Hundred And One

Nine hundred times.

One and a half hours of soft twilight.


What My Hands Can Do

I wanted to write this out, but as it is with these things, it had a mind of its own.

It’s strange to be this old and be afraid of human contact. No, I haven’t phrased that well. Perhaps ‘afraid of being touched with romantic intent’? Because I have my hands in and on people all day, and no issues there. But apparently, as I’ve recently found out, I learnt my lesson of not being wanted to be touched so well, that I’ve forgotten what it can even feel like.

He held my hand, and I froze. I had so literally forgotten that someone can want to touch me, too. That someone can want to take my hand- I live in a world where this is a possibility, this is a real thing. Someone can want to walk with me and hold my hand, or put their arm around me and actually like holding me. And the weight of the last god knows how many times I had shamefacedly or belligerently asked for hugs welled up inside my chest, just under the realization that this- this could be a part of my reality. Of my life. I could be hugged. I could be held. It was not something outlandish or alien to want. Someone can want to hold my hand.

And that idea, the very breadth of that concept, seems so vast, I’ve hardly been able to think of it in the last few days without still feeling bewildered. To think, I’d forgotten, I was allowed to want this too. That I’d been loving with so many limits, on what my hands could, and could not do.

Who knew?