I need to have bedsheets that are unwrinkled and straight at the corners,
but that outlaws the wild tickles and the pillowfights.
I need to have a kitchen floor that is swept and clean,
but then my door is only sometimes open; hesitant,
and the days are lonely.
I want to live in crazy abundance and creativity. To jump spontaneously from jetties into the salty blue without worrying about my just-washed hair. I want to light all the candles, leave the dishes in the sink, drive without a destination, read under a tree until I fall asleep and find springs flowing with ah-ha moments.
And I want all these moments to drizzle from me into words, like the sweetest honey.
To mean something. To have weight. To bring freedom.
So we wrestle again. Between the immaculate and the divine.
Because the divine is messy, and sometimes messy is free.
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