Lauren Hurst

I want to know you at the end the way I knew you at the start, so pure and untainted.

Realize that parts of you were once the centre of a star, the heart of a burning light.
Know that you are, quite literally, part of an endless cosmos.

My bed grows three oceans wider and four arctics colder on Sunday mornings.

The frequency of your heartbeat shifts down two octaves, it’s out of tune just enough for others to notice, but never question why. This is the subtle sound of losing yourself.

What if the deeper that emptiness carves into our souls, the deeper we allow ourselves to be filled with happiness? If that’s the case, doesn’t that make this kind of living so excruciatingly beautiful?