Collected at the Borderline

Monday morning in sweltering New York summer sun, you barely have time to see that sharp edge between dreams and reality, waking at dawn and forgetting what might be expected of you today. I want the ocean now, it pulls at me, calls to me, reminds me there’s a wild current out there and I’d do well to swim in it. Ramble instead in foreign jungles, consider a change of address, taste the street under the soles of your feet, wonder how the curve of your body may mold to its crooked grid. A suitcase arrives, six years it spent gathering dust in someone else’s attic and now that you uncover the treasures do they not turn to sand between your fingers? Loose bits of fabric, tapestries of another time, things that you thought you could not live without, but here’s the thing: not only did you live, but you blossomed beyond even your wildest dreams. The girl who packed that suitcase may look like me in a crowd, but I don't know her anymore.

There are so many unwritten pages around us, do not worry about them. Keep your pen to the ones you do get to write, write them as very best you can. Do yourself proud:

The rest will follow.