The sky looked like a watercolor wash last night when we fled to the water. I say fled because I was at my most unbearably dark dark side darkest. I was tempted to walk in the water in my dress a dress I’d knotted at my knees as it’s long too long a sack a bag to hold a ghost with brick-red flowers. To be told of optimism means to be shamed because where that lies is as empty as what’s under a dress and as easily found as the sand underneath, the bottom of the ocean floor were I to float out beyond the break my dress ballooned up my hair ropes. Meaning there is none. No bottom, at least reachable. But dark means this other thing too for some of us for me and it’s all us not me. Dark means laugh. I don’t mean to be obtuse. Reach for the laugh with your toes or your hands. The sun in the evening is as beautiful going down as it is in the morning coming up and what else would that mean?
To be honest, if I could just lay down and never move again, I would. I'm done with shit.
gorgeous. hang in there sister. I love you.