well father,

I am thinking again about love and I am wondering again why life is so dramatic and unfair. Here in the shipwreck of it all I have wished many times and thrown all my pennies in the sea. narrower. narrower. now all my baggage is in the sea. It wasn’t useless either.

well father,

I am starting to stare into the sky again and watch as the birds all have somewhere to be. somewhere to go. I only have somewhere to leave and I must not stay. I must not stay where I do not belong, a preliminary cycle of attractions for unworthy things and looks.

well father,

I have been putting one foot in each gravel square in the side of the road, thinking about being carefree. The squares are getting bigger and I must walk faster. Rushing and decreasing these stones that haven’t hit the bottom of my soul yet.

well father,

I am thinking about making up some tea and being vulnerable but I fear it is not something I know how to do. The tea seems to spill all over the sides of our mugs and it’s much too hot to lick or catch or drink. It doesn’t spill enough for me to share my thoughts in this quiet wooden place.

well father,

I am simply thinking about life. Not the life that we talk about; the life I know exists. People talk about changing the world but I’m not looking to make it more industrial;

I’ve spent all my pennies on thinking of a life where my baggage doesn’t matter.