Somebody once told me to write from a white hot place,
And I figured it's somewhere center, and integral- a part of some core we all live to face,
But it only recently became clear that the heart isn't it, but the love that fills the space.
I have known some versions of it, but never this maddening measure...
A burn, like a fever overtaken.
I'm surrounded by questions.
Am I good enough?
Is this real?

Could I manage this beautiful storm and live to tell the tale?

This white hot place is filled full, and I am afraid of a burst before too long.

All I can do is overwhelm with the love created, and hope to not fall down

And be overtaken by the greatest gamble of my life.

Sometimes it's good to gamble...