The Things That Are Aching To Be Told

Friday Love Note #1

I lay in bed, my eyes wide open, in the good dark of the very early morning. I thought about you. I thought about what I would write to you when I arose.

I have been moving away from you. I have been trying to keep you happy, and in the thicket of this earnest task I have lost both myself and you. I have been thinking of numbers - how many emails opened and how many new subscriptions - and not of the colours and shapes of my yearnings. I have been trying to predict what you would pay for, rather than telling you the things that are aching to be told.

I have been commodifying my heart, and yours.

A sentence brought me back to myself.

“The unexpected, sudden sunshine of the day must have filled his small, dark body up to the beak until he couldn’t help but pour it out of him.”

Josie George told me about this blackbird. She conjured him for me - he landed, alive, in my living room with his yolk-yellow beak and the glints on his black coat. She filled me with that sunshine as it poured out of him, through her and into me.

This is why I write for you. I want to fill you with sunshine, or terrible dark sparkles of grief, or the cold shock of new choice. I want to show you the hidden places inside me, so you can know your own. I want to write my way towards love, so it can find you too.

That is what I will do on Fridays.

My love notes will be short, undiluted, and crafted with close attention. They will begin underground, where my tangled roots meet the world’s roots. I won’t look too much at the bright billboards or at what other people are doing. I won’t look at your face and try and guess what you want from me. I’ll listen to the blackbird. I’ll tell what aches to be told.

I will bring you the gentle drone of my dog’s snore, the party of a pink dahlia in our October garden, the concentrated consolation of a candle flame.

I will bring you the only thing I have, which is me.

Go gently,
Satya <3

Tell me: Did you read, see or hear something this week that brought you back to yourself?

Josie George

’s book Still Life is bringing much beauty and wisdom to my days. I don’t want it to end. She is on Substack too - hurray - at

bimblings

. Go see her!