everything else: dull roots, spring rain
dear internet,
i clean the bathroom drain, i reorganize my documents, i spray my windows with glass-cleaner. i unravel three months’ worth of knitting and start over. i am a tiny 8-bit ball bouncing against the four walls of my life. i eat strawberries with breakfast and tinned fish with dinner, and sometimes i wake before sunrise because a blackbird is singing. my tulips are redder than you would believe and i can’t think about my future without falling apart. when the thunderstorm begins i take a glass of wine to the dining room and sit in the dark to watch. one morning i remember how i used to be the kind of person who always had bandaids and safety-pins in my bag, and then two days later at work someone catches their finger on something and i give them a bandaid from my bag, and they say, “what, so you just have a bandaid on you at all times?” at the end of a long day i open a fortune cookie and find two slips of paper inside: don’t worry, they say, your problems will disappear.
love,
t