Welcome back to Thirty-One, the project where I attempt to write something every day for a year. If you missed any previous issues, you can find them by clicking here.
Day Twenty-Two (May 18th) Highways are like modes of inter-dimensional travel. No one stays for long. The trees have seen every traveler, though. They could tell endless stories of the in-between. Day Twenty-Three (May 19th) Sand imprints itself like memories on my skin. Tiny grains of time gone by. Brush the past away. Let only the present remain. Day Twenty-Four (May 20th) Towering stalks of beach grasses stab upward, interrupting the blue of the sky. Merging with it more gracefully are the dense thickets of seagrapes. From a certain angle, they look like soft green clouds floating past. Day Twenty-Five (May 21st) Life is a collection of small moments. Don’t waste them while they’re happening. Day Twenty-Six (May 22nd) When days run together, my energy bleeds through the edges. Rest is not a lack of movement. The pauses allow us to live unencumbered. Day Twenty-Seven (May 23rd) I have a throbbing headache. It’s destroying me. This isn’t a poem. Then, again, maybe it is. Day Twenty-Eight (May 24th) I’ve taken on too much. I did it willingly, but that doesn’t make it any easier. Fatigue is catching up with me, and everything feels a bit like a dream. Will I wake up soon, or will the dream simply shift?
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