Fall asleep to waves, wake to waves, breaking against nearby shorelines, the ocean is a tonic at every turn. I go for a long run along the eroding bluffs, watch them crumble into the sea, see my cheeks burn in the autumn sunlight I cannot anger. In the late afternoon, sprawled out on a faded towel at the edge of a grassy dune, the words all return to me, the poetry, the dreams. After a year and a half of dread, somehow I can still feel joy. We are nothing if not incessant optimists, forever turning pages and dreaming them into rainbows.
Perhaps that is what life is. Keep turning pages and believe in the ones whose colors bring you joy.
Turn enough pages and you'll always find one that does.
No comments:
Post a Comment