Sun-day.

Clouds of hangover remained once the storm passed, memories of a day waded through the fog and rearranged themselves slowly in my veins. Some pieces already lay softly where they should, sunshine and soulful proximity and gratitude, while others tumbled about with their hard edges and tried to make sense. Distraction came from across oceans and for a moment the question marks stayed silent; my muscles stretched and realized how content they were.

The walk home was lovely, cool, but unguarded moments make way for confused pieces to resurface, kick their jagged edges into the soft lull of the stroll. I saw you in the street and the pieces didn't fit until it was too late.

I falter, sometimes, wobble in my composure and forget my direction. But things are looking up, dear, they are really looking up. When the fog is still so thick, why else would my soul be smiling so?