I. Lately I’ve been thinking about
Lately I’ve been thinking about the sunrise that split into my living room, coloring the room in a pale orange. How it beckoned me to the window, revealing a sky on fire.
Lately I’ve been thinking about what it is to romanticize one’s own life, to fall head over heels for the simplicity of our days. To see this as a form of our own caretaking. Lately I’ve been thinking about what it is to, perhaps, be a bit delusional. When did I decide it was bad to be delusional? Like drenching the day in honey and seeing how it tastes. To see this as expanding my corners, as stretching beyond my self-imposed limits.
Lately I’ve been thinking about taking time. Letting it stretch, letting it be slow. Letting it tip into discomfort. Letting my limbs itch and twitch and then watching it pass. Slowness as resistance. As wealth.
Lately I’ve been thinking about home, how it is both my ribcage and the walls around me. How it is both here and not. How it is both the ground underneath my feet and something like vapor dancing on my fingertips. In my dreams I see brilliant light from the window calling me to wake, I see the door wide open beckoning you in. There’s birdsong. There are trees that envelope me and I delight in seeing them through all seasons. I see my hand lazily draped around your waist, my face buried in the nape of your neck. It feels like exhaling, like floating. I hold the dream close, memorizing and delighting in it. I watch it come further into focus. I speak it out loud, I give it words here. I start to leave its trace, trusting that its roots will bloom where it can thrive.
Lately I’ve been thinking about pleasure. How it often finds me around a table, when time is suspended and it’s just us. How it feels like olive oil clinging to your fingers, like wine on your tongue. How it’s sourdough breadcrumbs and mascarpone spread thick. How it smells like butter browning and looks like flickering candles. How it feels like you outstretching your hand to hold mine.
Lately I’ve been thinking about words. How I cling to them, searching for their resonance, aching for them to give name to a feeling. Lately I’ve been obsessing over the words humming and cut. I’ve been writing and writing and writing. I’ve been finding a home here, feeling my voice expand and stretch. It’s felt like space, like the story is mine and its boundless.