Our world was painted in black and white with strict borders and straight lines tucked neatly in boxes. Then mother nature got drunk one night and painted outside the lines. The world exploded in color, hues bursting from their boxes in an almost sexual frenzy, lines blurred by jagged streaks of electric blue. Mother nature nursed her hangover and watched her perfect little world descend into complete imperfection, and her smile lit the skies because she knew she had just created beauty.
She is not “my girl.”
She belongs to herself. And I am blessed, for with all her freedom, she still comes back to me, moment-to-moment, day-by-day, and night-by-night.
How much more blessed can I be?