I brace my ankles with concrete guards and absently trace the back of my calloused knuckles. I sharpen my discipline on a cracked whetstone. I beat my body into health for years, while letting my relationships mature, like alcohol.
I tape up cracked ribs with broken-heart slap-patches. The pain in my flank reminds me that I need to broaden my vision. My fiance doesn't exist on a separate plane of existence; she doesn't live in a land of Taken For Granted. I have to fortify my devotion to her, same as the density of my own bone marrow. Through practice and attention and the cultivation of trials.
11:21 p.m. - 2015-07-16
Recent entries:
Tossi Propter - 2018-07-02
Summerscorch - 2018-07-02
Heartdesert - 2018-06-25
Elliptical - 2018-06-25
Back and Callback - 2018-06-18
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