I wish I could take a snapshot of my brain, and hand it to you whenever I feel multiplied into a million frenzied people speaking the same primitive language. This picture is the best I can do. In the forefront, a mostly vacant strip of sand, and this is probably the part of my brain that welcomes those nights I spend alone, ok with being alone. I drink bottles of wine alone. Then, the water, today barely frothing, at zen when meeting peculiar territory, like my empty, lonely beach. These waters reflect that I want to be queen, I want to own, to help the world. I yearn to invent and create. Yesterday the shoreline knew that I wanted to shred everything around me, I ache that I’m ill, I cannot speak, there are no handles, a remedy does not belong, but I’m not at mercy. The weather changes. Tomorrow, as this picture shows you, it will rain, a rinse for a nicer picture. It’ll be bright golden and blue after, and maybe the dogs will walk themselves as we sprawl under a blossoming tree. Yes, after this rain, one should see into the distance of these snapshots I’ll take for you, past where the sun sets itself into a dot at the horizon’s line, so that you can look for yourself who I really am.
