all night i was grumbling how i want to be at home in chicago playing in the dirt, riding my bike around looking for wood to build things for the garden, and here i am in southern california plastering a grin on through all the family small talk i can bear.
but this morning i'm awake early, listening to my sister snore beside me and my brother shout in his dreams, and the breeze from the window smells dry and clean and soft. the scent of the canyons - i'd forgotten that. this place is not for me, but it does have its charms, my own dear aggravating loving confusing kind extended family included.
for a while i was surprised every time i saw myself in the mirror, but now that i've learned my own face again i miss something of my fluidity.
in the midst of breath. forgetting justifications. i'm trying to be self-assured and tall, to ignore these roping concerns.
no, i don't miss you this fast. i'd like you to be here so i could crawl over to you in this early morning light and fall back asleep, and i'd like you to be my backbone while i have all these stiff conversations, but yr far away and really (we may never sing anything at all).
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