I may officially be getting older because I'm actually beginning to approach love discerningly. Let's take this slower, I hear myself saying over and over again, as I shuffle two steps backward, leaning in with my intuition, not my heart. Let's wait a while, see if we actually like each other enough to get all mushy gushy.
Love is easy.
Like is picky.
Communion is holy.
I want all three. So sincerely that I'm happy waiting, casting spells into the wind, dancing into the ground of my truth, peering out from the shores of my borderless heart, to see if that boat that's passing this way is going where I want to go. Letting it get just close enough to know. Not jumping at the first sight of any boat. But trusting that I'm okay, even if I never leave my own land. Instead, I can toss glitter to the wind, bless that dear boat's journey, sing songs to its sails from my shore. But actually stepping foot inside its walls? That's a whole other tale.
I've had one too many spills amidst roaring waves to simply say "okay" to any shiny ship passing through.