The broken clock is comfort.
So few come and all go.
There is so much going on . I feel like I'm stuck in a snow globe. The world is staring in on me, waiting for something majestic to spring forth, as if I'm capable. It gives me a shake, poking and prodding me until I do its' little dance. But I don't want to dance. I want to set up fort in the Redwoods with piles of books and pot to boil water for endless cups of coffee. I want to go for a hike before breakfast, just after sunrise. I want to carve away at some random walking stick for no reason at all. I want splinters. I want one set of utensils, and to eat by candlelight. I want to lie on my stomach with my legs crossed, reading Sabrina Ward Harrison barefoot in the afternoon. I want a mind full of questions that need no definitive answers. I want to write everything down. I want callouses. I want to scrape my knees scaling a mountainside. I want to cook a meal in the middle of the forest. I want an empty wallet and a full heart. I want all that is broken to evaporate into steam and float on by. I want to eat artichokes the way I did when I was a little girl. I want to wash my face in a noisy stream, among careless creatures. Swim North. I want to swim. I want a sore arm from skipping rocks. I want to make quiet ripples in a body of water. I want to splatter paper with melted crayons and walk my dog before sunset. I want to destroy every clock I own. I want to burn the calendars of the world and live for the moment. I want to immerse myself in each day. I want to believe that loving bravely--purely, without expectation--will bring me to where I need to be. I want to cook pancakes for the smell. I want to share a bottle of wine and a sleeping bag beneath the stars.
Why did you sing hallelujah
If it means nothing to you?
Why did you sing with me at all?
There is so much going on . I feel like I'm stuck in a snow globe. The world is staring in on me, waiting for something majestic to spring forth, as if I'm capable. It gives me a shake, poking and prodding me until I do its' little dance. But I don't want to dance. I want to set up fort in the Redwoods with piles of books and pot to boil water for endless cups of coffee. I want to go for a hike before breakfast, just after sunrise. I want to carve away at some random walking stick for no reason at all. I want splinters. I want one set of utensils, and to eat by candlelight. I want to lie on my stomach with my legs crossed, reading Sabrina Ward Harrison barefoot in the afternoon. I want a mind full of questions that need no definitive answers. I want to write everything down. I want callouses. I want to scrape my knees scaling a mountainside. I want to cook a meal in the middle of the forest. I want an empty wallet and a full heart. I want all that is broken to evaporate into steam and float on by. I want to eat artichokes the way I did when I was a little girl. I want to wash my face in a noisy stream, among careless creatures. Swim North. I want to swim. I want a sore arm from skipping rocks. I want to make quiet ripples in a body of water. I want to splatter paper with melted crayons and walk my dog before sunset. I want to destroy every clock I own. I want to burn the calendars of the world and live for the moment. I want to immerse myself in each day. I want to believe that loving bravely--purely, without expectation--will bring me to where I need to be. I want to cook pancakes for the smell. I want to share a bottle of wine and a sleeping bag beneath the stars.
Why did you sing hallelujah
If it means nothing to you?
Why did you sing with me at all?