I so wish that I could talk to you. And tell you about my day. About how I rolled over this morning, hitting the snooze button, choosing the warmth of my bed, listening to the rain, rather than going for my run. About how I got the chance to enjoy a cup of coffee with a dear friend before heading into work. Something about the ritual of coffee and talking makes me feel a little more centered. About how I met a young man with the same profound love of E.E. Cummings. He had a small collection of his work hidden in a messenger bag which was only made visible as he fumbled searching for his wallet. He smiled as I quoted "here's to opening and upward," and even finished my sentence. What a sweet, lovely moment. About how I thought of you as a man passed wearing an East of Maui sweatshirt, another with an orange baseball cap spelling out A Prairie Home Companion. I then watched an entire flat cart I had somewhat precariously stacked, come tumbling down. I held back tears standing in a sea of blueberries and strawberries and cucumbers. Luckily laughter followed and the help of countless crew members reminding me that I rarely have such bad luck. Oh, and I wore my red rain boots today, yet sadly there was no puddle jumping to be had. Hopefully next time.
I so wish that I could talk to you. And tell you that I miss you. About how this time of day, when the distractions of work and the details of other people's lives aren't present, is the hardest part. About how my thoughts turn to you and wishing you were beside me. How I'm hoping you're okay.
And how I have to believe that words still count for something. So I'll keep writing. And hope that somewhere out there, you're reading. And maybe, eventually, it will be enough.
And it's a bit early, but I can't stay up tonight.
For day 4: The Head and the Heart.
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