Like a raindrop will never strike the same spot twice, I pray that no matter how I think or perceive it, I am changing.
Like water can eventually wear away a stone, I pray I can find who I really am behind how I think or how I perceive.
Like love can be a cool breeze with gentle rain showers, it can also be a cat 5 hurricane. Why do I expect myself to only ever be sunny and in the 80s?
Rain used to make me feel glad to have an inside to go to. The new experience of wildfire smoke makes me realize I am going to whine a lot about air conditioning in any apocalypse. There’s something very cool about having so many reminders of how good it is to be alive. Even if they start at a weird junction.
I’ve prolly still killed far more plants then I’ve kept alive, but it’s a nice easy way to see that progress I’ve been hoping for.
I haven’t seen a sunset in PA in exactly 2 years. There’s a lot of names and faces along with those sunsets. I’ve felt lonely many times watching sunsets in Nevada, realizing how far away from the people I call home. Then I remember my new homes, my new people, and I would change nothing between then and now. No matter how I think or perceive it.
Sometimes the spills can remind you to say thanks for great flooring. Maybe sometimes I really need to just stop overwatering myself. Maybe sometimes I can just be exactly where and how I am meant to be.
Sometimes, the best days are when your head can leak out your fingertips long enough to say hello. When you can just be. nothing after. How can singers just sing so well? How can the seconds of hesitation and formatting pause and the rain just falls without a whisper of judgement because it just is. I bet, at some point, you don’t even need gratitude to remind you that it’s always working out, regardless of the puddles, regardless of the days that seem to go like firecrackers inside and cracked teeth and quivering lips with I’m fine written like a bad lipstick job.
Somebody should lay off the metaphors. And I swear that somebody only can peek out on the days I don’t think about it, yet somehow it’s so tough to remember not to. It’s like how a singer hits the note before they try. It’s how music and magic are only a few letters apart.
2 cups of coffee and an overwatered avocado plant