I love stories budding and growing and nurturing a place, and of the people who are mutually producing their own and consuming the atmosphere of stories, and this interconnection is astonishing.
I love people.
I love listening to people. Their dreams, struggles, childhood anecdotes, present laughter but a sadness in their eyes, decisions, movement and magnet of their eyes, heaving and sighing and breathing, clarity — they are like stars.
I love the trust they put in a fellow human being, a kinship to a twin star, and the ease they feel with the moment altogether, with their own declarations and silences and circumstances of the present.
I love lending my heart and ears and coming to connect what they say, do, and feel.
I love pondering about the beautiful, and it is always beautiful.
I love our expressions of all forms and ways.
I love the unlayered human in us. This is the closest we’ve ever come to being home, being.