Thirty-One: Weeks Forty-Two & Forty-Three
Days two hundred and eighty-eight through three hundred and one
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 Two Hundred and Eighty-Eight (February 8th) Sunset pulled all the yellow from the sky, dragging it down to the depths of the horizon, that imaginary line where the world ends. Day Two Hundred and Eighty-Nine (February 9th) I am alone, as I have been for some time. I am alone, but I won’t be for much longer. And yet I cannot decide whether this is a gift to be celebrated or a loss to be mourned. Day Two Hundred and Ninety (February 10th) I see the sky in your eyes, reflecting the world back at itself. We are a planet full of mirrors. Day Two Hundred and Ninety-One (February 11th) palm leaves in the wind the feeling of silk on skin a gentle caress Day Two Hundred and Ninety-Two (February 12th) The breeze reaches in through the open window and grabs my bedroom door, opening and closing it like a ghost trying to get in. Day Two Hundred and Ninety-Three (February 13th) Even good news can bring grief. I didn’t imagine this life for myself. Day Two Hundred and Ninety-Four (February 14th) I’m loving myself today. For now, that’s enough. Day Two Hundred and Ninety-Five (February 15th) Looking up at fresh pollen-covered branches, I see the earth reaching out to the sky, blue and green mingling in a different perspective Day Two Hundred and Ninety-Six (February 16th) There are whispers in the emptiness and murmurs beneath the dark Day Two Hundred and Ninety-Seven (February 17th) Constant rain falls like static on an old TV. The end will come tomorrow, but today is only grey. Day Two Hundred and Ninety-Eight (February 18th) The front slowed, slinking across the state in no particular hurry. The rain decided it wasn’t done with us yet. Day Two Hundred and Ninety-Nine (February 19th) A single bird sits on a wire, long tail draped over the edge. A solitary being observing the mass of traffic below. Day Three Hundred (February 20th) At any given time, my brain feels filled with: fog bees soup static molasses sludge quicksand wet cement sorrow the hope that tomorrow will be better Day Three Hundred and One (February 21st) I may be falling downhill in a wildly uncontrollable fashion, but at least I’m moving. I’ll take momentum however I can get it.
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