Katherine

“I think back to the girl I was when he first posed that question—scared, confused, falling in love with a boy I thought I could never have, unsure who I was underneath the facade my family forced upon me. I’m still scared sometimes, but I know who I am now. I’ve been birthed through pain and sacrifice, through joy and unconditional love. I am stronger than I once was, able to make difficult choices without flinching, but I am not hard. My hands are not clean. But my soul is light. I love deeper than I ever thought possible, know the lengths I will go to in order to protect those I care about. I can survive out here, but I can really live as well. I can kill a deer for our dinner and appreciate the beauty of a lone eagle soaring through a brilliant blue sky. I can hold off a stranger with my knife and share laughter with my friends around the warmth of a fire. I can live with the fear of losing Bishop and love him fiercely anyway. “This is who I want to be,” I say. “The girl I am right now.”
― Amy Engel, The Revolution of Ivy

“sweet spring is your
time is my time is our
time for springtime is lovetime
and viva sweet love

(all the merry little birds are
flying in the floating in the
very spirits singing in
are winging in the blossoming)

lovers go and lovers come
awandering awondering
but any two are perfectly
alone there's nobody else alive

(such a sky and such a sun
i never knew and neither did you
and everybody never breathed
quite so many kinds of yes)

not a tree can count his leaves
each herself by opening
but shining who by thousands mean
only one amazing thing

(secretly adoring shyly
tiny winging darting floating
merry in the blossoming
always joyful selves are singing)

sweet spring is your
time is my time is our
time for springtime is lovetime
and viva sweet love”
― E. e. cummings

“who knows if the moon's
a balloon,coming out of a keen city
in the sky--filled with pretty people?
( and if you and I should

get into it,if they
should take me and take you into their balloon,
why then
we'd go up higher with all the pretty people

than houses and steeples and clouds:
go sailing
away and away sailing into a keen
city which nobody's ever visited,where

always
it's
Spring)and everyone's
in love and flowers pick themselves”
― e.e. cummings, Collected Poems