a note clothespinned

I lived in blue sky, you on your stomach smiling at some far away thing. I can't remember the last time I relaxed at a park with someone so new, so fresh, so lovely. And how a smile is like the fall, wiping away every bad memory of a hot summer of a blistering thought. Caught in the moments, this beautiful way of saving me in the smallest and most innocent of ways. Always near the brink, feeling and fearing the rocks might give way at a moment's notice, yet just in the nick of time a bold move and a fire inside can turn it all around. And here I am standing on the brink of something else, something foreign and old, something I boxed away a very long time ago, something good I purposely buried to bring out when the time is right. And that comes so natural, like water gathering on the leaf of a lily.

Remember how I said my heart is a prodigal son, coming back, limping back, barely beating but alive somehow? Well, it seems to have mended itself up quite a bit, some nasty gashes here and there, but ones that muscles memory has fixed and repurposed, like an old dress with new owners.

There is an old brick that sits somewhere at my place to remind me of solid ground, to remind me of the past, to show me what hard work can produce and how sturdy it can be. To never give up on some things, even when they give up on you. And all in all at the end of time, I think that I would like to be like that brick.

I wrote a poem the other day. It's short, maybe even sweet, but it works in this instance quite well. I'll share it just because I can:

Whether the world

ends in a bang

or a sigh

I'll turn to you

and kiss you goodbye.

I suppose that's what everything everywhere is all about.