I’m thinking about how early the spring flower buds rise up from the grass; just barely on winter’s heels. How uncomfortable, how cold the soil must be, still half-frosted, when the roots start to take shape.
I want to wade into the water on the sidewalk, crawl out of this feeling without giving it a name. Take a lighter to love’s sticky edges so its sadness isn’t caught in my throat.
How radiant you are, waiting by the window, watching for the sun to grant you more time to dance beneath it. You’ve let yourself dream again. Even if its in bites, even if it’s in a different voice than it used to be.
We’ve never seen what a happy life could look like if we chose to spend it by ourselves – sharing our beautiful lives with friends, family members, the occasional crush, and lounging out in that quiet space alone as if an idyllic sunned beach.
I will still live like a ghost in the mornings; walking, listening, pouring coffee to finish sometime by the afternoon, when I’ve had enough of watching the world and do all I can to live in it.
