stories of ice and wind
I had learned the secret of beautiful women as a child, from a grown up man and he shared it with me in return for me sharing a poem He said that beautiful women forget they do not bear past wounds on their chest, they move forwards past storms And they emerge clean and tall. He too shared his thought in a poem, that i have mostly forgotten although i have pursued that kind of beauty but rather the richness of memories in all colors and flavors. sometimes memory burdens with the depths of its truths of unforgivable but forgettable acts justified or not by the quality of possible futures sometimes you crave that kind of bare chested beauty the cleaner mind, the youthful body untouched, unmarked by scars and the weight of predictions then you bring it out when it helps you to make the decision to break with the past and if you listen there is an almost audible sound of a heart breaking. mine sounded like ice it was cracking for days and when the piece tha...