I know, I know. I’d just wrapped things up; I wasn’t going to write for a while. But this might be the last lazy afternoon I have for a while, and I couldn’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be. (Realistically, I mean.) So I’m back, with my pretty pink tea and private victory of lemon curd toast.
Occasionally I read something so good it makes me feel like a complete and total fraud. Do you know how this is? It could be anything: a whole book, or just a chapter or a particular page. Sometimes it’s a poem; sometimes it’s a paragraph. Sometimes it’s a single sentence, standing alone. Sometimes it’s only its better half.
I have a soft spot for all the words somebody typed and resisted the urge to erase. But even more so for the ones that make my breath catch, my heart drop. My ears burn.
“Still now, I send letters into space, hoping that some mailman somewhere will track you down and recognize you from the descriptions in my poems. He will place the stack of them in your hands and tell you, there is a girl who still writes you. She doesn’t know how not to.” -Sarah Kay, Postcards
Eloquent, I know.
I’m not exactly sure why that one has lodged itself in my throat quite the way that it has.
Just the morning I was messing around and wrote myself a note:
“Sometimes you confuse your needs. You don’t need a boyfriend. You need a list of places you’d like to see. People you’d like to lift right off the ground. You need a better playlist, a pair of slippery socks, a window you can crack open, and a cactus you can’t kill. You need a good book, and an hour with nothing to do. You need a stamp to send a letter, and something to do with the lemon curd still sitting in the fridge. You need a slice of life-affirming bread, buttered + toasted. You need to be brave. Get over it, let it go. You need to make it your aim to have a pretty heart. A whole life full of happy minutes.”
And yet here I am, quietly wondering. Wishing?
Here’s another one that makes my head hurt:
“He didn’t love you well and you think it’s a mountain vs. sky situation, like you just weren’t quite tall enough to reach him. You think he saw the whole world from where he was and decided you looked a little insignificant. If he was as good as you think he was then why was he always towering over you? If he was as good as you think he was, then why did he let you feel small?” -Rebeka Anne
Eyes gone squinty. Temple gone throb-throb-throb.