And no sweet whisper, Or gentle sigh, or finely crafted love note, carefully composed ballad, time-honoured tradition, sacred vow, could stop the roar of water rushing through my ears. In the leafy green shadow cast by boughs overburdened, hard droplets slap against the lichen-speckled wood the wooden floor that warmed me from the souls of my feet to the pads of my fingers. Slapping, and smacking, and rushing through my ears. Bare shoulders to the moist warm air, sturdy boots clumping through the gathering pools, all emerald reflections dotted slowly with the coltish blue, peeking coyly through the now relenting…
This year, birthday weekend was a lot less lonely. In fact, I was moved to tears several times throughout the day as the text messages, phone calls, emails, and Facebook posts poured in. I know a lot of incredible people, and as a person who believes that the company we keep is a reflection of our character, I was humbled over and over. I was kidnapped by my friends and lavished with love all weekend long. It was spectacular. Each year, I am so very grateful to have made it to another birthday. I was amazed this year to consider…
I can’t take credit for that one…it’s Leonard Cohen’s line, but I heard it this morning, while on the way to work listening to Suzanne and it made me think… I rather feel like drowning men can see me really well. I’m a little bit like a lighthouse that way. Or the Coast Guard. Of course, other people can see me well too. I think what I need to do is decide that I’m no longer a lifeguard. All men will be sailors then until the sea shall free them. Same song. This made me think about a recent post…
There is an ocean inside you. I can hear it between your words as clearly as the yawning roar from the pearly slit of the seashell at my ear. You have held these tides at bay and have quelled the undulation of the waves with the steady power of your gaze, but the fathoms are so strange and deep that they wake you, feverish from your slumber. Who will you become if you surrender? If you abandon the exhausting tread to sink slowly, and steadily into the velvet green of unknowable fathoms, will you be dangerously far from the all-illuminating…
Rosie Hardy is a seventeen year old girl who lives in England. She met her boyfriend, Aaron Space on Flickr, when they both participated in the 365 day contest. She lives in England, he in America. When I was seventeen, nothing about love seemed impossible. This has been in my inbox for a while, and I’ve been debating whether or not to share this. It’s an excerpt from a letter written by my friend Richard Northwood, to a girl who added him on Facebook. I don’t believe he ever sent it to her, but he shared it with me after…
