A Love Letter to Myself

I haven’t taken the time to get to know you. I’ve distracted myself with minutia from the day we met. Early on, it was strictly out of curiosity. And at the time, you fascinated me, too. But as I got older, the spark of light or glint of sun on metal called to me more than the light in your eyes. As I got older, I put things between us, forgot how to take care of you, let you go hungry. It’s hard to turn away from these creature comforts. It’s hard to actually take care of yourself.

Procession People

An excerpt of something I’ve been working on. 

There weren’t that many people. There were more at the church than had seen him those last months in the hospital. There were more than he had seen in the last decade of his life— but there weren’t that many people. They stood on the steps of the church doing what all people do at a funeral. The ones he had isolated, frustrated, and wronged revised their memories, and their wounds and grudges became grief.

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