There is only one moment. if you have hesitated, you have already missed it.

sometimes i speak this other language.
and it is raw and primal and full of shrieks and growls. it is eloquent and strong and perfect. it is the only tongue that feels like home, again and again, that i can leave for weeks and slip into like the skin i forgot has always been my own. it is a language rich in vowels and consonants and in-betweens, foreign and strangely familiar, even to those who think they've never heard it before. it is a language without a word for apology, a life without regret. i am so grateful to have heard it, to have beckoned to it, to be able to speak it and teach it and revel in its peculiarity and laugh at it's quirks and sweat through its twists and turns.
it is the greatest gift this world has ever given me, and endebtedness is the fuel that drives passion toward its limits. i will spend the rest of my life saying this thank you.
there is so much laughter on this floor. and tears. and joy. and fear. and conquest. it is the richest life there is. and cruel. and merciful.

of what use is a life that does not make you bleed? that does not make you cry? that does not call you, again and again, into yourself; demanding that you set your ego aside and lay prostrate before all you do not know, and cannot yet do?
give me a life with a beat. a life that will use me up and spit me out, breathless, on the other side.
(-cera)