Shifts of the Earth
sometimes no one show them what has happened in their wake
it’s early, only half past ten and i’m already exhausted. i’ve got no sense of what i’m supposed to be doing right now. not in like, the life sense.
just basic functions like breathing or walking, speaking, giving up, blinking? it’s all so new and foreign. do you really think you’re tired? try living in tired.
at night i get out of bed and pull a huge sweatshirt over my head and tube my arms through it, and pull on some sweatpants and open my door and walk down the stairs to my apartment. i sit outside for a long time.
sometimes i sit right on the ‘porch’, or, the two by three piece of wood that juts out from the door. other times i sit on the log that divides yard from driveway, and think about all of the cars that have once been there. and all of the times i’ve cried in my driveway, or laughed, or been kissed, hugged, comforted. and i wonder why my driveway looks so deserted and what the hell happened.
i suppose my favorite place to sit or lie, rather, is on the grass in my backyard. i love lying down outside. and breathing fresh air and feeling the grass as a bed, and the way each piece brushes against my skin. i love the smell of dirt, and the grittiness of it when i dig into it with my hands. the sky is the most amazing thing i’ve ever seen, aside from his eyes. it’s serene and impatient at the same time. i love the way the breeze floats just above my skin,
and how i can hear every shift of the earth.
and i have the gift to do this every night, i don’t know how i grew so lucky in a time when everything seemed to be falling. so whenever it all feels so incredibly old and bruised and relentless, hold on. you are not alone. take time for yourself to rediscover what the outside has to give to you. you can breathe fresh air every night and you can always sleep on the grass,
