Teach me how to be loved.
It’s scary. This love thing. The sweet vulnerability of extension. The naked of ‘here I am’. The tentative reaching of outstretched arms. The wide open of hope.
We all get a little lost here. Wish we knew how to do it better. Wish it were cleaner and more gentle and a little easier to understand.
We welcome the head long rush of it just as we try to run away.
Teach me how to be loved. We all say this over and over again, in different words or with the shift and sway of our bodies or in the silent spaces where words are left behind.
Teach me how to be loved. Let me show you how to love me well. School me in the workings of your heart, in the language of your bones. Let my open palm memorize the shape of your…
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