We're all looking for you, aren't we? In these lives, measured out in coffee spoons, and lumps of love and hate: in our sculpting of selves from nine to fives, and novels read, hands held, and loves lost, and gained. I think, I am looking for me, in my face reflecting yours.
(I read, "Though I am like a wineskin in the smoke, I do not forget your decrees." I can't help but wonder which decrees we're talking about, here. Is love a decree?)
So, there is this day before me, as of yet, unmeasured out. There is this day, and I'm trying to drink you into me, even for just this moment, because I seem to wake to a soul's amnesia every morning.
And now, I remember that I am, after all, a rolling bundle of moments, picking up bits and pieces of self, as I rumble and bumble along. And what is sticking to me this morning, is that I decree you, and you decree me.
Let's go seek us out some precepts, baby.
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3 comments:
Angela, you write like i wish i could. i wish that you lived near me so that we could drink wine at 10 in the morning and talk about our various crap. godspeed, you black warrior.
"...rolling bundle of moments..."
ah, yes, indeed.
cheers,
here's to our various crap, and the (hopefully) various delight coming our way. guzzle, guzzle.
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