Ive lived for nearly eighteen summers
and yet
it is only my second time feeling a happiness like this.
I write this to you at 6:08am, the trail of night still blankets the edges of the sky— resisting the birth of day,
wind dances in the flower beds beyond my yard while the breath of dawn curiously tastes my skin
I am the first to greet her
I have not slept In a day (or two)
and mosquitos hum around my head as if they seek refuge from the promised ruthlessness of forenoon
...i've never felt an agony so sweet
(Tell me, am I dreaming ?
If I wake will I forget this stillness ?)
I think you would quite like being tucked away here in this very moment. Bare toes met with the morning-dew-coated earth
( I've rediscovered that grass is lovely),
my view: a sun barely risen.
For once... I am sane.
For once... I am absolved of the weight of my yesterdays.
It is in this peaceful solitude I think of the young girl I was a month ago, the one that would weep and beg for all of this living to end,
and I lay her memory to rest in the roots beneath my feet.
I am little more than the air I breathe.
When have I ever felt this free ?
Ive lived for nearly eighteen summers
And yet
I cannot remember
This.
— in the softest embers of early June
I am lost, undone
In the sunlit gaze of the yellow faced moon
