Where I've loaded up on dreams and forgot about the means. I'm being the change I want to see and fooled myself thinking it worked but no it's just a mirror and by the way my hair looks terrible.
Everything filled with sadness and fell off my branches.
I'm screaming silently, seething over the Van Morrison song playing in this Starbucks I'm only in for free WiFi and to spend the last of a gift card.
I am inconsolable and gloomy today.
Reader, I long to give you details. I am fine. Words drip out of my pen and fall in clever arrangement. My heart is full to bursting.
But other organisms swell inside me. A reluctance to fight certain battles. I am poor. Scared. And the hours I spend stuck in a car unable to knit or read or write. Even to you. I have no secrets but I swallow so much language in traffic.
I'm not ok with it. I'm working so hard to change things and get rid of the worry. I'm tired of temporary solutions and living arrangements and storage. I am so tired of having things stored where I can't get to them.
If not for a box of letters and the furniture my grandfather built I'd let it get sold away. But no.
With the exception of passive language, I acknowledge I'm just venting to you. Free-writing to a point.
I did not know where else to go. I do not know where I will go next.
Reader, I am not sure where I am going. When I get there, I will post a picture of the view, and let you know about the journey I can't tell now.