It’s been a while, you and your letters that all came together out of the broadness of my mind. Back when I’d just let my heart go onto keys and out would come bits of my brain and heart and memories and hopes and, well, you know the rest. It’s been a while since I simply released, let that control go fluttering out the window, an errant scrap of paper no one would miss and the way the sun hits that fenceline I just knew there were more letters to compile into stray music and thought. Thank you, I thought as I saw that glimmer. Thank you for that reminder of the girl who once sat for hours on cold concrete, thumbing through antiquated pages of poets and dreamers and thought-provokers who changed me to the core, made me who I was. Thank you for the memory of my father who in all of his vast imperfections did leave me gifts. Gifts of roads less traveled and gifts of deep red roses and gifts of not giving a fuck and living the quieter life. I am neither and yet I am both, and I’m the dream of who I wanted to be yet truly and fabulously Not. I have wrecked and burned and buffooned myself a thousand ways and yet here I am, standing.
Still standing. Writing words.
(With so much more to come.)