I Haven't Told You Yet

You have three minutes and sixteen seconds to write this story, you internal editor yells at you, feigning deadlines so that you might pick up the pace. I spent the weekend in moving boxes, wrapping up a life, unable to think about the one to come. We have a new project for you, do you have time?

I know I said life comes with the season. I also know I said I didn't believe it. But I spent the weekend in words and in action, I spent the week in sprouting work, but at the top of the list there's you, I first heard the song in a moving truck we couldn't stop because the engine wouldn't start again, what a fucking metaphor is that, you know?, and anyway I got where I was going then and eventually I got here too, so there's a strange justice about the Universe when it gives you long enough for perspective. I packed up my ancestors' travel chest from 1785 and can you imagine how far it's come from the woods of the North, how can you look at that journey and not call it a wonder? My grandmother kept dried flowers in it on a stairway landing for 60 years, what does utility mean? 

I went over the time limit. It was worth it.

I haven't told you yet
but I'm gonna be with you.