My grandmother says she married when she was fifteen years old and didn’t know what love was. She played by the creek when she was married and afterwards she had the added responsibility of weaving majestic Persian rugs for her in-laws.

It took three years for her to have her first daughter and that’s when she found that love was there. I asked her if she told my grandfather that she loved him and she got mad at me and said, “why are you asking such unintelligent questions! He didn’t need to hear it, he already knew!”

We get so lost in words these days that we forget the unspoken language that exists as well. Sometimes there is no need to speak what is already clear through action through touch through just the purity of what the eyes hold.

She is as she has always been. A survivor, born after her fathers death. She says the time she had with my grandfather was full of love and that he was an amazing man to her. But now she has forgotten the exact feeling of what that love was that she felt. But she knows it was love. From the beginning until his departure which came to soon for her.

When should I start? When is the moment? How does it begin? What will I say? Did I miss it? Should I wait for five minutes to pass or will the moment never come because I purposely waited for it. So then I will create the moment now. A moment in which I am bathing under velvet pink rain standing on top of yellow green orange leaves pressing against a tilting earth. In this moment, I am free.

There a moment, in time, but not this time, here with the pen and the paper.

I wonder what this night will bring. I wonder what moments it will craft beautifully and set them aside awaiting for someone to take part of it. To notice its efforts, to understand that it’s on your side. Will you notice the night? Will you feel its breath on your heart? Will you notice its eyes full of love, trying to tell you that love is abundant.

I remember certain moments, where night played center stage and broke me loose from convention. I remember sweetness in the days when I felt the hands of time its body rushing rose petals on my skin. moment inventing greater moments. Communicating within themselves, sparkling inside of joy of seeing my heart jump out of my stomach in such happiness at such brilliant moments.

Trembling, but never fearing night.

I am here before you naked in my thoughts.

Sky of honey see of diamonds covering me inside of hope.

It seems to me, sometimes, that life and I have been long time friends even family. We know each other. I am comfortable with life and life is comfortable with me. Then there are times where it seems like life approaches me at some bar a total stranger trying to get my attention. In which case, life and I have to start from the beginning re-introducing ourselves trying to get to know each other. Complete strangers in an unfamiliar night. Trembling in each others thoughts to find the space where trust can take root once again.

Life changes all the time. One comes as one is leaving.

The only time I have ever known life as my dearest friend and companion was during my younger years. We roamed together day and night. I had full trust and that made us inseparable. But as I grew, too much came in between us. Either, life or I or we both pushed each other out. Maybe growing up and leaning more towards my thoughts becoming a singular being instead of an omni presence I lost the beauty of imagination and creation.

Now, we have to find each other again. From the early morning haze that settles upon us to the deepest black of night, we must chase down our monsters to make clear to each other who we are. We must rescue each other because we are each other’s first love. The best thing that ever happened to me…Life.