That’s it. There is too much new. Too much time, too much space, too much free. This moment as I try to strip myself of the old I’m scared that after all I gave away and all I wish to shed there will be nothing left of who I was to mix with the who I wish to be.
I fill the space between sleep with lists of subtle avoidance. Slowing runs the risk of this novice juggler fumbling and the charade being up as it all crashes down.
Even this tree acknowledges me a stranger.My back does not fit in this place of still. I have yet to stay long enough to align myself with it and the chill in the air encourages me to wrap tight myself, but Fine is a blanket of too few letters.