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She attracts co-dependency that doesn’t like to see others rained upon while repelling those she’s nurtured by the same imitation honey, and she lives in a body immune to suffering the karmic stings by those invited to her pity parties.

“You make it look easy,” she says.

I smile in response, but it only looks like a smile, because although it’s intended to be delivered as a compliment, it’s wrapped in a quietly distracting jealousy she’s unaware I can feel.

“Do you have some money?” she asks.

I smile in response, but it only looks like a smile, because although it sounds like concern, it’s only a hidden subscription to entitlement, that by my birth does she find me past due.

We get wet too, those that hold umbrellas for others, but our wetness feels to them like being enveloped in warm soaking tubs. Even if we stand with arms above our heads to save them from a falling sky, they would prefer to use our breath for shelter, than to use theirs to save us from drowning under combined weight.

If there is a desire to live as if Finally were a destination unimagined, then the umbrellas held for others will be found illusory in their shielding, because life must rain on life to achieve growth.

So let the day come as it will, though not finally, when cracks in the soil can be seen for what they are, rather than sheltered from what they can’t become beneath an ocean floor of false protection, so that our garden might grow beyond the oceans we swim, to propagate amongst worlds yet imagined.

The love carried for the souls that felt burdened by my birth has grown so profoundly over the years that its detachment from their physical lives was once a source of my confusion. There exist falsely controlled places in the mind that, if demolished, might end the ability to dream. Falsely controlled because thought and action require one another for sustenance and life self-propagates from thoughts and actions that are not our own, yet which ultimately come to be just so. The man and woman have been instrumental in revealing man’s natural attachment to distinction, which helped me to resolve, though not finally, a detachment from various aspects of fairness, at least as it appears in ‘reality.’ Memories can lead some to live in guilt and to revisit the scenes of their childhood crimes as if they were responsible for another’s transgressions. The rains from those visions can be so violent that umbrellas become part of their attire. Nakedness still fascinates me, mainly because it can only be felt – never seen. Once I put my umbrellas away and stopped holding them for another’s capable hands, I was viewed as cold and dismissive, but the key to standing in the rain is not caring about the view.

To become a nail tougher than the hammer that drove it into the ground requires nothing more than steady patience in the formation of rust. Reality does not return to pull what has been planted, so dreams must live as a coercive decree for endeavored arriving. ♥

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