We're so many bottles in when it's time to go, bring the shovels and unearth a car from the piles of unretrieved garbage. It starts on the first try, it has never failed you, how you long to drive off and not return until you are tired and ready to be home.
You are always tired and home seems forever a construct.
It's only February, a small voice inside you whispers. February always brought you to your knees, but you outlasted it every time. This month will pass, this cold, dark, isolated raft in the middle of the ocean will at last reach shore and you will step out alive, a little worse for the wear, perhaps, but alive and that's all that matters. Three weeks left, when will the snow thaw? When will the buds begin to bloom?
You will be ready
You will be ready
You will be here when it's time.
No comments:
Post a Comment