What It Is

Someone writes to me and reminds me, that what I say holds weight. That although I sit here alone, I am never really alone. And when my days inch by in peace there is still something to be said about this. I have made myself busy lately in taking inventory of the simple and the pleasing.

In the mornings he gets up before I do, the room a mild darkness, a glow from behind the curtains. I forget where I am- still on a ship, still out to sea, still elsewhere always. In the mornings there is warm tea and cold ocean air.

In a life I do not yet know I will talk about this place. I do not know what I will say. I will say I was hardly ever there, that I was just passing through.

I watch a video of you holding your daughter and go for a walk around the block. I watch a video of puppies in the back of a pick-up truck. I watch a video of someone making souffle. There is an art to it really. Most people miss that I think.

I take to the writing the way I take to working out like both might make me a better person. Neither of them do.

Lately, I’ve got the idea in my head, that everything is getting better, just because of the way I look at it. What I want to tell you is that everything gets better and it does not. We just get along and learn to live with it and then fall in love again. I am tired of being tired and sick of being sad and bored of being guilty.

I am looking forward to June. It is always an island, and I can barely say its name. Everything falls apart and it comes back together again. There is something I am not saying but I do not know what it is.