Mar 1, 2003

Learning to laugh in a room on your own



Mottled sky. Windblown me. Tired and small and drawn to the indoors where books beckon and the posture of night can be assumed at any hour. Today was like traveling in secret. Like sneaking about. Like looking for something but forgetting it at the same time. I can taste the sun on my tongue. Feel the tingle of a breeze in my hair. I catch myself longing for it to be easy and trying to keep from wanting what I don't need. With one hand raised, I bear the sky upward. And it is heavier than one might think. I travel perpetually, but I never manage to go anywhere.

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posted by Mary Forrest at 6:11 PM | Back to Monoblog


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