*

oh, how i wish the things i’d find in my email inbox every day were sweet symphonies. small, delicious feasts. poems from inside the light of an endless bright star. golden-toned photographs of a 90-year old man pouring his daily cuppa tea. why can’t my box be stuffed with a thousand or more songs that leap, some shining stars, a little knowledge, tiny stories, light bouncing out of the glistening cup? why can’t there be magic when i click open?

i don’t want to buy or sell your things. i want to know where your soul has been.

*

i woke up today begging for some words. some words to put down here to describe what’s inside. or outside. some transformation. some disappearance. a heartfelt realization. something.

i mean, after all, isn’t a writer always writing or getting ready to write? well, no. not really.

sometimes we’re just getting up and combing our kids’ hair and drinking decaf coffee cause we can’t handle regular anymore and eating a bowl of granola and yogurt and sitting, searching aimlessly for some moment to study and dissect. for some cloudy point of inspiration to spread out clearly before us, in words on the page.

or sometimes, there’s just nothing to say. truly. and sometimes we should listen when there’s nothing and say nothing.

but often times, we just go on and on about things anyway, regardless if those things are nothing, because we’re told to push through the nothing. but they’re still nothing. and other times, they…are…everything…

but folks, this is not one of those times when nothing turns into everything right before your eyes. no, not today. not today.

photo + words on habit today: