Naked intent is sitting in the rain in an empty park.
Lightning flashes, wind smacks you and batters, as you shout your deepest hopes into the squall.
Though the words do not matter, you are beyond words now, and way beyond thoughts, as you pierce the dark clouds of unknowing with child-like screams and sharp darts of longing love.
You’re asking to be heard, demanding to be heard; scarce believing but calling out.
Until it’s enough. Your lungs and heart are spent; you sit quiet in the rain, breathing hard, like a boxer between rounds.
And later, as you wander home past other people’s ‘normal’ lives – they somehow talk as if nothing is wrong – you wonder, ‘Just what have I done?’
You’re not sure. You’re not sure of anything these days.
But you do know you had to go there. You had to go to the park.
And you do know you long for something, and that there, near the swings and the closed cafe, expressed that longing so intently that just for a moment, the world stopped and nothing else mattered.
Nothing else mattered.
Naked intent.
