Would rather be falling asleep next to you than anywhere else. This is the price we pay for distance. This is the price we pay for cutting it too close, for letting things slip until they’re past due. I do not know what it’ll feel like, time passing slow in the airport. How will I fit my arms around it, the discomfort? This is trying to patch things up in small measures—struggling with the thin air of bravery, throwing circumstance, common sense to the wind. We’ll ride bravery like a mighty beast, trusting it until it throws us off of it. And I might end up bruised, might have to sit out the next round, but I’ll be goddamned if I don’t try.

It’s this sleepy sort of bravery which pushes and pulls, which drives us to great lengths. Waving my fists in the face of it all, in the face of uncertainty, unlikelihood, of fear. In the face of “this is our last shot.” In the face of “this is difficult, but worth it.” In the face of “I’d rather be heartbroken than never know what was on the other end of the tin can line.”

I am remembering that I do not know how to love half-heartedly. It still looms beneath me, fighting up through me like a salmon fighting currents. I let it hide away when the apathy overtook me, but I believe in fighting, teeth barred like this last good fight. To release yourself to loving hard and fast and without exceptions. To waving blazing fists in the face of “too far” or “too hard.”

I want to be a force of nature. Want to be your calm in the eye of the storm, your storm, your anything, whatever, everything. Will love you like the weather depends on it, like it’s my life’s work. Not going to miss a chance to watch you shiver, to watch you shine.

And it’s slow moving, viscous, calling out something slow motion. But we’ve been working and I am too stubborn to say goodbye. You can catch me, window seat smiling, airport hands shake, don’t get to turn me away. I’ll take all of the arrows, the bloody knees. Let there be no such thing as leaving myself wanting

- started doing 750words and am feeling encouraged to find the poem in myself again.
- ten days until chicago, fourteen until new york, seventeen till steph comes to visit.
- dalton’s supernova factory came in the mail yesterday and it is beautiful.
- getting excited for a birthday brunch full of rad babes on friday.

Small things: favorite part of my morning commute lately has been the older gentleman who (I’m pretty sure) is teaching himself to read by reading children’s books. He makes brown paper covers for them, so I can’t see what they are, but from the distance, the bold colors and pictures make it clear. He silently mouths the words again and again until he gets to the end. When he closes the books he always has the biggest, most satisfied looking grin.

saturn is in return seven years too early.

A perfect Monday read.