I know it feels safe here. Right here where the water is still and memories of storms far away. Right here where you never have to make the choice between being safe and being brave. Right here where you’ve carved out breathing space for your spluttering heart.
And I know you only constructed this cocoon after trying so desperately to be big, to be bold. After you had splashed your love over people and places that would take flame and then flicker out. I know you have been courageous with your light and that now you are in the midst of self-preservation.
I am here to tell you that you do not get to choose when to be brave with your life.
That this trip around the sun is non-refundable should you choose to play it small.
You must be reckless with your gratitude and wild with your heart.
(It will always heal, I promise.)
You must be grateful of the loves that left you half-dead; gasping on the floor as your chest bruised from the inside out. You must remember that the universe laughed as you wept over a path entirely unsuited to your soul.
You must remember that you are somewhere in a galaxy made of moon dust, spinning aimlessly on a ball filled with water and that your entire life is a cataclysmic cosmic coincidence.
You must remember that each sunrise will bring you closer to the one that will take you home and that your dance card must be so worn only you will ever know exactly which arms have spun you around and around and around.
You are pure magic my darling, forged in the fire of stardust and sunbeams.
And you do not get to play small with your soul.