july
the saturday of summer
I’d like to say that I’ve been doing fine most of my days.
However, I’m uncertain if that statement is entirely truth;
and I’m afraid that if I lie, nature will correct me.
I’ve been pondering about rest again lately…
I wish I had someone in my life that I could tell this to, and they wouldn’t instantly grow afraid of me or rush off to try and fix me.
They’re most often just thoughts —
I don’t want to die; I just don’t want to be alive.
I’ve been trying to disregard the fact that my life has felt subtly unfulfilling more recently…like something is missing.
If I let myself think about it too deeply, I may start to fill this void with things that are forcefully out of place — wherever I go, I often feel as if I am.
I try my best to not think as often as I feel.
I’ve been trying to swim as often as I can before the final grain of sand drops, and the leaves begin turning various shades of gold, amber, and maroon.
I prefer, mostly, to go for a swim at the first light of morning.
I grab my books and pens, awake my skin with an unapologetic scent of sunscreen, and brew a fresh pot of coffee; I’ve been using white chocolate-raspberry creamer…it tastes like the epitome of a summer romance.
I spend these mornings amidst a cool body of water, as the sun, without hesitation, enlightens her with the warmth of love and playfulness — she comes alive both at her depths and upon the surface.
I wish I could find a way to believe in miracles again.
My dog, Kira (she’s a German Shepard), occasionally comes up to me as I write, perched up alongside the deck.
She comes over to check if I have any more cookies to give — I don’t — she kisses me before walking away…perhaps a mere act of love is miracle enough.
