Love is only a sunbeam gifted to us too briefly.
Sometimes I can smell eternity in this light, so deep that it makes home in the core of my stomach turning me into a silent bubble floating around the world. Bleeding away the wounds and healing like I own the secrets of the universe. Above the ground, somewhere in the middle of the air taking no space, numbed with a sense of euphoria.
And other times I cannot even look at the light. Neither within nor in the whisks of the fruity air around me. It fails to remind me of flowers and mandalas and poems that otherwise fill me up with life songs. I feel I dissolve in the backdrop of my life. I become one of these lonely things around like a balloon or a dried old tree or a noisy wall hanging. Some days the sunbeam fails me.