Bethany Rogers is a Michigan native who enjoys coffee, traveling, running, the moon, wine and puns.
Here, swoon at her poetry with me:
be here —
“Let’s get outta here,” adventure cries, her scattered little soul dancing at the thought of new cities, new sights, new soil, keeping time with the waltz of her feet — feet which have long since resigned to the familiar fatigue which exists only to one who chooses to recognize the similarities between ‘lost’ and ‘found,’ rather than the differences.
“But remember that time…” nostalgia counters, her heavy heart blessed with the burden of memories — family dinners around that mahogany table, summers of ( mostly unrequited ) love & flirting with sunlight as it seeped through the soft greens of that bike path, days of too-rash treks to small-but-mighty towns, nights of too-short time with old-but-treasured friends. She lives to knock you to your knees, whispering sweet nothings of how she ‘just can’t get on without you.’
“Just be here,” the present chimes in, her tread so light she often goes unnoticed until after she’s slipped away — but my God, is she refreshing.
“Let me work my magic,” she breathes — her very words a gentle squeeze of feeble hands, soft kisses on bare shoulders.
the haze lifts, if only for a moment.
Nostalgia rests easy in the realization that the present has no desire to undermine her old friend’s worth.
Adventure, too, sighs in relief, recognizing that the present could actually be a lovely dance partner.
And you —
You, my love, are free.
To be here,
to be now,
to fall in love with moments instead of expectations,
to rub elbows with today,
to be p r e s e n t .