How many times in our life are we within these moments?
Unfounded, unlimited happiness? Moments within which we feel neither the finality of morality, nor the limit of our beginnings?
I read today, or was it yesterday, on The Naked Soul: To Whose Beat Are You Marching To…, about stripping ourselves bare of the expectations of others that we carry, the expectations that have become our own.
I see a lost girl in a train station, too many bags too carry alone, no idea as to what is packed within them, but all stamped “necessary”.
Now I wish I could give you the visual of this, that I had the acumen of some of my fellow bloggers to insert the proper pictures within the proper space of the words, and someday I will, but for now, believe, that there is a space between the words where only visuals can be captured and then there is yet a larger space, although often undetectable, where only the emotion without words or pictures exists. In that space, only faith of heart exists.