there's a quick blink of a conversation
and no one thinks anything of it
but it's years of confusion put to rest.
it's disregarding the location of anger
and the misinterpretation
of countless tapping fingers.
a few days ago the trees raised up
outside my bedroom window
and for a moment i felt like flying.
its a cold calm realization
when everything is temporary.
i'm adjusting - from flinging madness
and having something stay,
to keeping this pending,
keeping the books open,
holding out for rambling
while trying to fill the silence.