Monday, December 23, 2024

Gaze fixed far ahead like the double-yellow
of a desert highway, straight on ’til morning,
we seek sweetness our childhoods couldn’t
savor. Ghosts cling to our coattails, crumpled
fists of misty memories flapping at our backs,
ready to reach through our hearts to grasp
at something just off our track. So we scritch
under their chins and pat their heads. No no,
dear ones, our prize still lies a ways away. Wait.

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love notes
a ritual to start the week