Denim Flowers & Musings

This entire post was shot by Sophie Kuller. If you want to see more of her work (*trust me you do), please go to her Instagram @sophkuller or her website  http://sophiekuller.format.com 

These pictures seem to find a place in me where it triggers the familiar feeling in me. Recently, the idea and conversation of romance or romantic love has been extremely present. So, I'm going to write some musings from a person inside of me. 

I have given my all and in those cases, I have been cracked and torn. I grew so weary from the concept of love that I disconnected to reconnect to a part of myself. So, here I stand a bit broken and bruised with many who want to call me their muse. But a muse fades like beauty or youth and then I'll just be a picture on your canvas, a negative in your film roll, or a woman on your arm. Because you never know your muse. She is just an idea. A reflection of you. 

So, I get faced with the idea of real love and it feels like swimming in open waters. Too many dangers because you can't see below, the landscape is too vast, and above is a deceiving blue sky. But isn't it rare when you see a soul that meets your soul? Isn't it rare to feel an unspoken understanding of who you are with another person?

I would think it is, indeed, rare. I only experience glimmers of it. I only experienced superficial, transitional passings of it. But this feels as though it stood the test of time. Though, I am not so bold to reach out for it. I am not so bold to hold your hand even when it is only inches from mine. I am not so bold to kiss your skin even when you hug and squeeze me close. I have been bruised and am a bit less broken and that still rings in my ear. 

So, when I tried to write this beautiful romantic musing, a telling or a hint at what I may feel, it comes out broken and too fragmented and clumsy. It doesn't flow with the same tenderness or sing song nature that I wish for. It is a reflection of me: a bit awkward and unsure like a teenage girl who never grew up. 

I stay stuck where I was unable to say what I want or be my bold usual self. I don't look for love. I look for myself. I look for my spirit and I only fumble when I see a bit of that spirit in someone else.