This Is Me...

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

i’m not a cat person,

“Two years, still I write you. Sometimes I think it’s penance and sometimes I think it’s reminder. I’ve written a novel since then, a world breathed into being. You’re empty, and I’m pen and paper and apologies. I don’t have answers, just a lot of stories. It’s hardly anything, this. Two years. Dust and dreams. A whole world. The best thing I ever bought were hours to explain myself to me. At twenty-nine I make some facsimile of beauty, a journal of gratitudes, plant things just to see them grow. It’s so small, the time, the space, the grace of being another year older. Thank yous, tucked into the corners, I press them into every other thing, alive and dead.”