Your absence has made the heart grow fonder in the past year. Much has changed. The sacred places we used to sit in quiet reverence of each other's light, in each other's warmth, have turned to ash in a violent sacrilege of all that we once held to be true.
My love, our house is burning. And along with it candles that once carried prayers from our lips into God’s hands where they found shelter, weary from their long travels. I watch, helplessly, as it all comes crumbling to its foundations, and it is there where I am reminded of your love. Reminded of what it was to love and to be loved fearlessly. Reminded of words that struck fear into our childhoods. That no one would love us if we never loved ourselves. How could we love ourselves in such homes? I am reminded of the first time we held each other in a quiet embrace. Reminded of how our bodies felt like home.
My love, our house is burning. And along with it photographs that immortalized in stone our hearts growing tender together. The plates we used to serve that love each morning, even though our forks weren’t gold plated nor our spoons made from silver, we were fed to our heart’s content. I am reminded of the bed where our dreams found a place to lay their heads at night, gathering the strength to carry on at dawn. All gone.
Our house is burning, like the love, we shared in it. I am reminded to give thanks for all that we lost in the fire while braving through the Maya. But now that I know love, and how to be loved fearlessly, I give thanks for all that we gained. The inflammable non-flammable things. The peace and gratitude. The love that we shared taught me how to love myself. The sort of love that taught me that even though we are broken things, we are still whole.
My love, even though our house is burning it is still home. For me, for you, for us, and for anyone brave enough to remold their hearts with compassion. For others and for self. Even though the house is burning, it’s a reminder that nothing has to be perfect to be deserving of love.
With love and gratitude,
A Broken Thing
Enquiry for Tsoku Maela – When you were down, 2016
Tsoku Maela – When you were down Figures - 2016
78 x 116 cm
Photography on Fuji Crystal Archival