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For more detailed information about the cookies we use, please see our privacy policy. This site requires JavaScript to run correctly. Please turn on JavaScript or unblock scripts. Tyler Knott Gregson. Comment Nov Nov 8. Nov 7. Comment 7. Nov 5. Share Share this post Songs You're Loving www. Nov 3. Comment 3. Somewhere someone is packing their bags to see the world with someone else.
Somewhere someone is reaching through the most terrifying few feet of space to hold the hand of someone else. Somewhere someone is pouring ink like blood onto pages fighting to say the truth that has no words. Somewhere someone is waiting patient but exhausted to just be with someone else.
Somewhere someone is opening their eyes to a sunrise in someplace they have never seen. Somewhere someone is pulling out the petals twisting the apple stem picking up the heads up penny rubbing the rabbits foot knocking on wood throwing coins into fountains hunting for the only clover with only 4 leaves skipping over the cracks snapping the wishbone crossing their fingers blowing out the candles sending dandelion seeds into the air ushering eyelashes off their thumbs finding the first star and waiting for on their clock to spend their wishes on someone else.
Somewhere someone is saying goodbye but somewhere someone else is saying hello. Somewhere someone is sharing their first or their last kiss with their or no longer their someone else. Somewhere someone is wondering if how they feel is how the other they feels about them and if both theys could ever become a they together.
Somewhere someone is the decoder ring to all of the great mysteries of life for someone else. Somewhere someone is the treasure map. Somewhere someone thinks they love someone else exactly like I love you.
Somewhere someone is wrong. Some days, it's those exact fissures that let the light hiding inside me pour out and cover in gold everyone that found enough beauty in the cracks to stand close. The wander and not the wait, the magic in the lost feet stumbling down the faraway street and the way the moon never hangs quite the same. A thank you in words to all of those that do not do what they do so well for the thanking.
This is to the mothers. This is to the ones who match our first scream with their loudest scream; who harmonize in our shared pain and joy and terrified wonder when life begins. To the ones who stay up late and wake up early and always know the distance between their soft humming song and our tired ears. To the lips that find their way to our foreheads and know, somehow always know, if too much heat is living in our skin.
To the hands that spread the jam on the bread and the mesmerizing patient removal of the crust we just cannot stomach.
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