to know that I could come back here and write about it, to tell you that Iβm still dreaming of california in loops, that Iβm often holding a fistful of fallen flower petals, cleaning out my room, thinking of horse hair, braids, knots, treble time in distant states, getting in my head, love letters to deliver, that thereβs a thread running through it all, thereβs a light waiting to be described, thereβs work to do














