THREE AND SIX AND FIVE

The slow days are gone. In the mornings or late noons that I awake, I take one look at time and lose it. Before my feet could touch the floor, I turn into a bird, and throughout the day there are no branches. I do catch myself in pensive moments: perched on the car window is a thought paused in traffic, the strain of an ambulance siren slices through the silence, and in the middle of work I count with my fingers just to check that I still have them, all of them, the glare of a too-open window, the crunch of a fresh apple, the trickling of rain down your elbow and the generous sensuality of staying awake at four to catch the rare appearance of violet clouds. These— I still have these. And I am thankful although my gratefulness never seems to catch up to pen, is late for paper, and always, regrettably always, is too listless or list-full for a patient page of words.

I apologize for the delays. This happiness is too big for me, sometimes. I realize now that the point is not to carry happiness around, brandishing it like a sword. I would rather be suffused in it— happily unaware, like hints of color at dawn. Posted 7 months ago with 19 notes