Good Morning All, ♥️
There are eight little “sets” (weeks) of poems left.
I also happen to have eight days left in the home where I lived with my former partner.
I had planned to publish the poems into July, but that doesn’t feel right anymore.
So, for those of you that want to come along for the ride, I’ll be publishing the final poems, 2-3 poems a day, starting today and ending a week from now, May 21st.
I’m forever grateful that all of you came on this journey with me.
Read them if you get time, if you don’t, all good. ❤️
And of course, you can still buy the book. Thanks to my oldest friend, It’s now in a store as far West as Jackson Hole, Wyoming.
With Love,
Shiny ✨
I Wish for You June 14 I wish for you to be happy. I wish for you to fall in love again. I wish for you to heal the hurts in your heart. I wish for people to surprise you with kindness. I wish for you to make all the beautiful art within you, if you want. I wish for you to never turn your back on your innocent, silly, and playful side. I wish for you to show that side to other people, because you come to love and trust them. I wish for you to have joy and peace in your life, and in your heart. I wish for good things to come to you and happen to you. I wish for you to have a long and happy life, the life you want, a life that fills your heart. I wish for you to know that you are loveable, that you are one in a trillion. I wish for you that every hope you have for your life comes to be. I wish for you to know that even though our story is over, I love you. I loved you then. I love you now. I'll love you forever. Another Signature June 15 We have always been so different. I was reminded of that today when we signed our divorce papers, and in the middle of it all, I noticed that we write the date differently, mine with forward slashes, quick and efficient, yours with the month’s name, methodical and thought out. This just isn’t what I had in mind. I never thought that this would happen. We went from a life, and a love, and dreams, and wishes, and kisses, and hugs, and hopes, and scars, and adventures, and memories, words, songs, drawing, making love after love after love, running to each other, holding each other, swimming and hiking, and singing and cooking, and reading and talking and talking, to dozens of pages of bank statements, to twelve pages of separating everything, to seven pages of service and acceptance, to four pages of waiver and compliance, and now one decree to signal our ending. They have reduced us to these pieces of paper, a number in a file, in a room neither of us will ever see, written by people we’ve never met, who never knew us.