You Will Do What Is Hard Because You Want To Be Loved.

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I’ll be your mother, if you’ll take me into the river and hold me steady against the current.

If I lift my feet off the ground, yours will be rooted, your arms will be strong and my face will be buried, I will be safe and protected, like a little girl with her daddy.

We’ll wander the banks, and when I get lost at the crossroads, you’ll smile and watch as I try to find my way, but right after the tractor and just before the fence, you’ll laugh and draw me back and guide me in the right direction.

“I wouldn’t let you get that far off the course,” you’ll say.

And when we reach our destination, finally, because it’s already been too long even though we just left it, we’ll crawl onto our patch of forest and become a tangle of dirt and sweat and bodies and those around us will be envious of the sounds we create, the trees will shiver when I breathe heavy in your ear, squirrels will sway dizzy in the heat of our sacral steam, and our neighbors will linger outside a little longer than necessary when the tips of your fingers make my back arch and my mouth drop open.

I’ll taste your humanity and you will smell my nature, and when I adorn your face with gems, you will close your eyes and become a pool of stillness and trust.

And once we’ve gone through it all at least once, after we’ve held hands with the sweetness of children and ravaged bodies with the fire of adolescents, I’ll be your oasis and you will be my desert blossom.

You’ll push my hair back and I will see my eyes in your blue, and we’ll teach each other to hold it as we search for a common language, then you’ll roll onto your back and cover your face and tell me things you want to tell me.

You’ll do it even though it’s hard, because you are brave and you want to be loved.

When you’ve said it all, when honesty has poured from you like liquid gold, it’ll take you a moment to show me your face again. But when you do, I will climb on top of you and hold you down, and with my hands on your chest, I will tell you I love you just because you exist, and you’ll hear me and you will believe me.


Hannah Harris
Hannah Harris grew up in the pure mountain air of Lake Tahoe, NV. She is now a Yoga teacher and writer in San Francisco. She believes the the single best thing any of us can do for the rest of creation is find the time to truly know and then madly love ourselves. Find her on Instagram and Facebook, or read more of her thoughts at Wayfaring Gypsy.
Hannah Harris
Hannah Harris