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2003-12-03 The all-night diner feeling at my narrow kitchen counter trying to set to rest my ends and drinking hot chocolate just for the sake of the melted layer of marshmallows on top. I miss being alone as much as I once was sometimes. We both work on our respective projects in our own spaces but it lacks some hallowed quality. Like sometimes, I know that once I shut the bathroom door anywhere the truth roars up my spine and tells it like it is. I feel very close to the janitors that finish up as I'm winding cables around my forearms. Sometimes I'm too aware of speech--is it too polished. And then most oft not polished enough in other crowds. Tomorrow, like all days anymore, I will walk against the wind chatting casually to God about how I don't know and help me and thank you and help them. And then it drops out of my heaviest breath, but is caught where I can't see it. |