I've cried twice this week and it's only Monday. This kitchen table is more of a university pamphlet/application form display case more than it is a kitchen table. I biked to school in the dark and I biked home in the dark (such is almost winter prairie living). I've fought with my parents, I've scrawled viciously into my journal, and it almost feels like there's no weather at all.
So I left everything, even if only for a few minutes. I lit a paper lantern down at the lake tonight. It was zero and windy and it didn't fly. Still, I left my discontent there on the beach. In the dark I started anew.
But some things, I kept. Because I didn't want to forget the good in the bad days. My bike rides, as dark as they've been. They mean a thermos of Oh Canada in my backpack pocket and the Vinyl Café in my ears. The prayers I scrawled out so viciously, but were answered the next morning (He is so good). Standing out on the deck in for no other reason than to feel alive; to feel Winter coming. Sidewalk chalk palms and late night filmmaking. That one city evening when we had Mexican breakfast for supper at Stella's. Sweet Rayvn, who lay with her head on the small of my back and let me cry. She said nothing. It was exactly what I needed to hear.
Something I wrote yesterday.