not a pretty picture. not a good. not a bad. picture. but an argument.

Sunday, June 12, 2011

symbiotic


pushing through the darkness
i grow alongside you

5 comments:

  1. today i watched a neighbor having a catch with her son in the street, all was peaceful. then he acted up and at once they were inside, and i could hear the yelling. i closed my eyes and ears and what you said just now struck a chord, they are both growing together.

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  2. funny, i was thinking of lovers with this photo but of course it speaks to me as a parent and my children as well. it speaks to all of us growing and needing one another, doens't it?

    just this weekend my mother wrote me a note telling me what a wonderful mother i am. i find it so very difficult to read things like this for i have been the mother you are talking about. i have been in my past and i will be in the future, as well, regardless of my intention to do well. i will fail. and so i kind of beg of myself and the world to only fail moderately. and then i will fall to my children weeping for absolution. only i will fail moderately and i will weep moderately for i don't want them to know of the depth of the struggle to be good. not yet. i want them to be comfortable in the knowledge that my love is unwavering and my goodness reliable. but my god, we are imperfect beings, aren't we? what my mother sees in me is not that i am so good, but that i am faulty and i see it. i wonder how she doesn't know this, this difference. perhaps she does.

    aimee, lovers need one another. i know you know this. i'm thinking maybe you're at this important juncture right now after being hurt. the risk always outweighs the result. sometimes we forget the result is each moment. (one girl to another, from hurt to love:)

    xo
    erin

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  3. infused with green...dig it and love the visual metaphor...of love

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  4. we grow
    in search
    of the sun.

    ~love robert
    xo

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  5. thanks ollie.

    robert,
    yes - and
    we grow
    so that we don't die:)

    xo
    erin

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"Words at the limit of hearing, attributable to no one, received in the conch of the ear like dew by a leaf." (philippe jaccottet) or even a quiet presence is appreciated))