So, I have my story. I don’t particularity believe it really, but it’s the one that follows me around like a disgusting body odor you try to hide or cover with another unnatural venom.
My story was disrupted today by an angel in disguise.
I laughed. I swooned. I left.
I went to Starbucks to regulate myself.
It happens again.
I’m present, well, maybe not as much as I can be. Because I feel tired. My bones are tired with the weight of neglecting myself. My voice.
I’m hopeful. Hopeful everyday that it doesn’t happen again.
I wait. It will pass. Hopefully my dreams won’t tag along.