i hope you get where you’re going and be happy when you do.
Yesterday we go for a walk in the woods just before winter falls again, watch the paths for signs of life and quantify everything we find, count deers in the distance and debate future dates with the same interest tempered with apathy. She gives me a beautiful sundress.. I love it, I will wear it until the stitches fall apart because I am old enough to know that everything old is new again. Every time I feel this way I am sure I am not going to find my way back to the beginning ever again and still wake up uncertain, soon it’s welcome to winter and seasonal sadness.
I don’t really write because nothing changes, I am living the same life I did this summer, last year, every day since eighteen-ever-after. I am circling familiar paths until they aren’t even routes just ruts underfoot, deer trails in the forest so used to the footprints the undergrowth has given up. I don’t mind, I try not to think too hard about it or anything at all. There is always someone outside your door to tell you how pretty you are, how interesting, to listen to your voice when you’ve made yourself sick off the sound of it. The past isn’t fixed, just the future from another perspective. If you’re making the same choices, life is a mobius strip of the mundane and preordained, manic depressive and back again before you click your heels three times: one week, three years, three months, everything old is new again? I will never be surprised to hear your voice at the other end of telephone wires too many times, hours or years after it’s too late to call.
