I want to sleep through this day. Let the night come without me noticing. Let the bars open without me hearing. Let the year close over my head, the winter come under my feet, the future slip in my front door and remove the tea kettle from heat. I’m awake but not yet waking. The subway doors close, the train moves and I hang on, just barely, with two fingers.
When will I rise in steamy glory with each morning when it comes? When will I close my teeth on each moment as it passes in saying “Yes, yes, I’m sure of it.” When will I know more than I wish away? When will I keep my life clean, like an open house in a brand new neighborhood? When will I sponge away the worry to make room for grace? When will I vacate my own front row to make room for others? When will I know I've mattered? When will I like what I've written?
One more startover today, because Im starting over. One more day 1. And one of these weeks I’ll make it to day 4. Wont that be nice, Dear. Mine, a life of day 1's. Nothing clean, nothing paid down, nothing well-slept or fully-explained. I will continue to flow and never ebb, move close and never excuse myself, hold tight and never breathe, make messes but never sense. The way I love you now, you’ll never quite be able to remember in detail. The life I’ve cooked up like bacon in a hot greasy skillet wont ever be accurately described in the New Yorker. Sometimes I pull it behind me naked through Union Square and never say sorry, because I am usually not sorry. But today, I just want to sleep through it. One more startover. Starting tomorrow.
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