shortcoming.
Like a lot of people, I've been in what's been called "Survivor Mode." You do enough to get through the day, most times by any means available to you.
I feel like I have been doing that since I graduated college.
Now, this happened
emotional
W.T.
On the shores of roped-off swimming spots
I remember you from all the pens I never collected
the contrast from the blue houses
Complimenting the white trim
I write in red tint
Now more honorable, more informed
I could have been
On those still nights
Beautiful with you
I never
TBT: a braindump from 201X
Note: Please be aware that I am doing a lot better now! This was just so... raw... that I felt compelled to post it here.
So I realized an uncomfortable truth over the weekend, while we were off doing our own things-- and I did mine, and it was great;
The Books I Left Behind
Do you ever think about
The books you left behind?
Every time you moved-- and then--
The very first move was an adventure to something greater. Our first real house, with a garage and and attic and my own room. The move after that, a grander adventure away from home.
Lately, my posts have turned to death. Here is yet another.
My grandmother was dying when I penned this post.
There is a lot of what my mother bitterly calls it, drama, concerning the surrounding circumstances. But most of it is not important; what matters at this moment is how she does not want any of this drama when the time
On people that died (maybe) when I wasn't watching.
I can't find her on Facebook anymore.
She hasn't updated her blog or Twitter.
She never answered my WhatsApp message.
I think she is gone.
I haven't said goodbye in over 15 years.
And I don't know how to feel about this.
It's been a week, and I haven't written.
I was on vacation last week.
Before, I made plans: to fix things around the house we've been putting off, to play video games, to talk to people, and to write.
Before and during, I also focused on making my space feel more like "me." That
