City Girl

I love the crawl of the city, especially on a sleepy Sunday mornings, where the traffic groans along with the old buildings, and the millenials and professionals and whatever-als nativgate a space that belongs to everyone and no one in particular. 

I love the bridges that cross the Liffey, uniting and dividing, and the trees that line the quays with their roots pushing through to be noticed. I love the early morning runners and the late home stumblers and the bikers wobbling and weaving in and out of harms way.

I love the red bricks and the glaring windows, the Georgian doors and the cobblestones, the tiny lanes and widest street in Europe (supposedly, once upon a time). The greys and the greens, the silvers and the odd sliver of sun that shines through.

Take me away to climb the mountains and stroll along beaches or through carpeted woods. Take me away, again and again, so I can come back as I’m a city girl who loves wandering these streets.

Soft

I read that we are not afraid of love but afraid of not being loved back.
I’m afraid that with each passing year, I have become hard of heart yet I want to be soft. I want to be as soft as the flesh thats pads my sturdy bones. As soft as my eyes when they swell with tears. I want my heart to be sculpted by hands that could melt metal and break wood.
I want to be reminded that the love I give is not shameful. It is a gift.