(and not only in the springtime)
.
I thought about how wonderfully strange it would be to live in a place where almost everything had been built by the dead.
– John Green, The Fault in Our Stars
.
Her story is more cobbled
than quilted, more scattered
than sown. She’s owned no
-thing and hailed no king
and weathered too many
storms to hope to anchor
roots between the stones.
But here,
she sips more slowly,
breathes the bridge of years gone by,
feels known.
.
I love Paris. I love this movie. I love this author. I love this poem. ♡
I love this:
“and weathered too many
storms to hope to anchor
roots between the stones” (multiple meanings in “stones”; I’m picturing Stephen-stones)
I can feel this in my bones:
“But here,
she sips more slowly,
breathes the bridge of years gone by,
feels known.” (The only place we can really be known is when we’re in communion with God, so I’m picturing you sipping coffee and reading your Bible at your own little metaphorical Paris-table. The imagination is a beautiful thing.)
I love alliteration, and you more than do it justice.
This is a wonderfully drawn sketch – I love the visuals you describe.
I have not read that book, so I am not familiar with the quote, but the poem is great. To feel like you belong – are known – is a wonderful feeling.