Thirty-One: Weeks Forty-Four & Forty-Five

Days three hundred and two through three hundred and fifteen

Photo by mfromfaraway on Unsplash

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 here.

Day Three Hundred and Two (February 22nd)
When we talk about
the stars, we aren’t thinking
of the sun. It’s not that we see it
every day; it’s that the sun is
the day, and stars are meant
to inhabit the night.

Day Three Hundred and Three (February 23rd)
Time slips through my hands
like grains of sand
on a beach made of eternity

Day Three Hundred and Four (February 24th)
Resistance is a counterweight.
Let go.

Day Three Hundred and Five (February 25th)
Deep roots allow us
to stretch toward the sun
without the fear of floating
into nothingness

Day Three Hundred and Six (February 26th)
I enjoy watching tea steep. The color seeps from the leaves, swirling down and around the hot water. Tea is a meditation. If water can become something new, so can I.

Day Three Hundred and Seven (February 27th)
Some depths are unfathomable,
but we can still hold the possibilities
in the palm of our hand

Day Three Hundred and Eight (February 28th)
Sometimes a mask
is more comfortable than my skin

Day Three Hundred and Nine (February 29th)
This project has a bonus day
but I have nothing bonus to say

Day Three Hundred and Ten (March 1st)
Shadows are the sun’s version of blackout poetry

Day Three Hundred and Eleven (March 2nd)
I was made here, molded from
the salt and sand. 
I stayed here, living in
an eternal sunshine state of mind.

Day Three Hundred and Twelve (March 3rd)
The evening sun pours in
from the west-facing window,
painting the room
in liquid gold. Light drips
from the walls and
melts the hard edges
into something softer, 
more suitable
for the coming spring.

Day Three Hundred and Thirteen (March 4th)
When it rains, the cockroaches come out. It has nothing to do with the cleanliness of your home. Florida is simply damp, and more moisture means more bugs. Growing up here, I became used to the roaches. They’re large and gross but more annoying than harmful. Last night, however, a deep-seated fear became a living nightmare. I woke up to feel a roach crawling on my face. In my half-conscious frenzy, I flung it from me in a panic. The bug flew so fast I heard it smack the wall. I also heard it scurry away to who-knows-where. Eventually, I fell back asleep, but not before being scarred for life.

Day Three Hundred and Fourteen (March 5th)
Warmer weather is louder. The open windows let in all kinds of sounds: birds, bugs, wind, cars driving past on nearby roads. With the fan turned up, even the inside noises are more pronounced. It’s too early in the year for this heat, but it’s here nonetheless.

Day Three Hundred and Fifteen (March 6th)
I’m grateful for the good days.

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