Are you receiving me? Are my pleas crackling through the
white noise of your day? Will you brighten my doorstep with your goofy grin?
Really, it’s quite possible that I have become insane. You
have the receipts—this blog and my journal—so please shock me back to reality.
Let me know that I’m alive for you, that this sense that I’m
dying is false, that we’ll meet again in this life and not somewhere that is
inhabited by small animatronic dolls. Maybe the same coffee shop where I was
convinced we’d be busted forever? I thought we’d be busted and yet your kiss lifted
me away from our small town and swept me into your spacetime, sucked me in where
your galaxy swirled.
Sheila comes back to me eighteen times a day, every day for
months, no concern with the how and when, just faith that it will be. Dinging
my temple bell and listening to the rime peel into the day, clearing my space
for you to enter.
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