i was walking along

like a fresh blessing

in the morning.

i love the city in the morning:

the quiet way the breeze places,

through green leaves and blackbirds.

it’s like all our mistakes and humanness are wiped clean

and only promise and possibility awaits.

i walk along

with honeysuckle flowers in my curling hair.

mr paris led me and my love to a honeysuckle climber this morning,

saying: “we only live once”

his grief emblazoned on a red rose on his backpack.

he shows us how

to bite off the ends and draw in the honeysuckle nectar,

telling me:

“leonie, i know of no other flower than the honeysuckle that is so similar to your essence.”

so i walk

the city morning

with love, friendship, grief and life in my hair.

i walk beside men and women:

a woman dressed like a man, smoking furtively.

instead of screwing my eyes up in judgement,

i whisper to her:

i love you anyway.

a thin man walks quickly, as though harried and fearful

about being late, about being lost, about being wrong,

and i whisper to him:

i love you anyway.

every man and woman i walk beside,

i watch them silently,

taking in all their parts,

and i want to love them with all of myself.

i want to bless them, i want them to know they are not alone,

i want them to have a good day.

and the thought strikes me,

as i walk like a miandering honeysuckled hair angel in the city morning,

following others and showering them with love,

that maybe, just maybe, just definitely,

that there were angels following me whispering:

i love you anyway. you are good. you are loved. i see you.