quiet shine

i think the only way to hold onto me forever is to captivate me from the beginning, and keep me like that, stunned and staring, awe and love mixing like paint. green and blue creating a perfect turquoise.

this is the way the world is falling into place: after too long, i’m making friends, we’re making friends. i’m remembering how to dream, remembering my dreams and turning them into art. i haven’t been writing, but i want to, and i think, today, finally, i’m ready. classes start soon, and i have a stack of library books in the living room, waiting to be read.

i’m going to drink lemonade all summer.

i read books to the little kids next door. i save things for them, stickers or small toys or rocks painted like sunsets. one of them comes out on his patio before he goes to bed. morgan, he calls, i wanted to tell you that i love you. he’s five. i want to make them an easter basket with paints and pencils and clean sketchpads, glitter and construction paper and ribbon. i want them to have the things i had, i want them to have the chance i was given- to let art sink into their eyes and hands and hearts, and stay. the oldest is eight, almost nine, and i think i might try and teach him about haikus.

last week, there was a letter. i read it alone, outside, late at night. when i was done, i lay on my back on cool cement, watching the stars. this week, there are poems. my heart is cracked open, knowing her thoughts these past few years. i don’t know how to respond. they are beautiful, she is beautiful, and these words aren’t enough.

my hair is short, just below my chin, and it hangs in my eyes when i laugh too hard. i have ten small bracelets on my right wrist, and green chinese print sandals. my skin and this sun- i’m warming from ivory to a darker cream. i don’t always wake up and feel beautiful, but i wake up and feel good, and there doesn’t seem any need to ask for more than that.

i’ve read eight books in the past week. i will read another today.

i don’t think my heart always knows the differences between this love and that one. sometimes, i’m just in love with everyone and everything. him and her and that ghost and the morning heat. isn’t it enough to love, at all?

there’s a quiet shine about living this life.