"and love, love, love.... was all around."

there comes a moment that requires acceptance 

of the fact that 

there really are no answers, or at least not right now.

that there isn't always a place to put all the left over love,

that hearts don't always mend when we want them to.

That love can exist without reason, without rhyme, without return of affection, without feeding of its fire, without even desire for its existence.

That right and wrong sometimes blur, that need and want can seem inseparable.

But that even in the face of such not knowing

there is more.

I am learning that missing, as much as I don't want to,

may just be part of the experience of being alive right now.

part that might hurt (oh yes!), but just one small part of many.

A strong part,

but not stronger than the love that has been given to me all my life.

I am blessed 

to live a life surrounded by love, love of family and friends and community and home.

Yet like so many

I am afraid of what I don't know- afraid to be fully here, afraid to be fully myself, afraid to let go of him, for the uncertainty of what is to come.

I'm afraid, but I'm learning how to let the fear go too, 

para vivir con valentía.

It's funny,

as I write these words I'm also so afraid for them to be read,

because my words are not constructing a perfect,

happy,

glowing,

account of my experiences in Bolivia (although, in reality, SO many moments here have been perfect, happy, & glowing!).

The most basic truth of life, I'm learning,

is that it is never perfect, at least not inherently,

but rather utterly perfect in its imperfection,

in its moments of difficulty and struggle.

Just as we, as people, are utterly beautiful in our own imperfection,

in our struggles to be the best that we can be.

I want to learn to accept this ache 

that exists inside my heart,

and find beauty in the utter uncertainty 

of it all.

To take each moment as it comes,

and find smiles each and every day,

and look up at the sky,

and breathe in the mountains and the birds and wrinkled, dark skin and the smell of saltañas,

and know, know, know,

that "everything is everything,

what's meant to be, will be."