i found a new word let’s talk about it
I read somewhere that an empire of dirt needs a caretaker
the word means a contemplation of dust. The idea that dust was once something that it came from somewhere that it could be any number of things or all things or nothing.
in the same reading it says it’s an understanding not of what’s been lost, or the transience of things, but of how the past persists in the present.
how does the past persist in the present?through literature? art? at some point everything returns to what it once was. dust. things blown in the wind, travel between places like money used over and over and over again until its value is no longer in its face and itself turns into dust.
we’re all dust aren’t we? we are dust  that talks, shares, creates, reproduces, kills, loves, hates.
the contemplation of dust reminds me of this obsession with the past that comes with ignorance in the present. thinking too hard about the dust that we will become clouds your mind from experiencing the dust that we are right now.
in some kind of conclusion, I will collect things before they come to dust, I will be the caretaker for the empire of it. I will cherish it, talk about it, share it, make something new out of it, so that it has a longer life than it once did.

breathe deeply
settle, pause
i am a crack in the pavement
filled in beautiful rocks and remembered by kids who walk to school past me
i am an old scroll revealing to the wandering alchemist where she is supposed to be
i am a ceiling fan that rattles
i am a bird who starts yelling way too early
i am a used bookstore that smells like dog eared corners and yellow pages
i’m a great dog
i am your worst enemy and your favorite lover
i **** flies but not spiders
i hate dismissal
i see you

the little indent on my finger
on my ******* right above the third knuckle on my right hand
from my pen
it reappears when i’m writing again

i want him to touch me in places that’s going to make my skin burn

pride goeth before the fall

not a dry eye in the house

i understand the sentiment, you’re unsure of my ability
my reliability
my drive

It could’ve been something that I said, my phrasing is always self-deprecating I know
Ive needed the adjustment, I don’t do well I know

What bothers me is the piling.
Everything always increases
It never gets easier

Not that I don’t think that I can
But haven’t been able to
I have never shown myself that Im capable

I tell myself differently
Like yelling at a brick wall
I stand unmovable at my own motivation
Wouldn’t my words mean more?

No matter what
I can
I will
I have before
I will continue

Ill never stop, but my heart wants the feeling to stop
Ill never let it
She can take it

Im also so sick of this depressing hopeful tone that I take. That I don’t think I can but will do it type speaking
I don’t know why I do it, because I’ve always been a self fulfilling prophecy, those feelings always end up being true.

light blues and tea
tea and camping chairs
chairs and the breeze
and a fire
fire?

you know, there’s no place i’ve ever wanted to be more.
remember that song? the place that makes me happy?
it’s never been anywhere else. us. you and me. and our light blues.

I wanted to ask for a minute now if you’re doing alright, not because it’s extremely noticeable  but you’re quieter and less interested in things. It’s not something that you can put into words either, but it’s a look in your eyes like you need more, like you don’t see the light like you used to. We don’t talk like we used to, and when we do I just take up all the silence with my thoughts. I don’t know if I’m giving you enough space to share or if I’m making it all about me. I don’t have a need to know what it is, but it’s digging at me to make sure that you can handle whatever it is. And if it’s important to you then it’s important to me, because you matter to me and I notice. I miss the old look you had, and I miss hearing what’s happening in your head.
I miss you.
Do you remember when I used to bring cigarettes and you’d make tea, and we’d sit outside for hours discussing anything and everything. It was all out in the open and it was all easier to keep track of when you were listening. I learned so much about you and everything you thought about was in my head, we would sit and offer advice and grow the conversation past menial problems to grand concepts that made everything else bearable.
That was my favorite part of every day.
The end of some eras make everything else bitter. Remembering what used to bring me so much joy. And now I don’t know what does, and I’m not sure if you know this or if you feel it too, but I’m positive it’ll come back. Whatever makes sense to us at any given time will make its way back. And we’ll survive it.