Of the first day of the rest of our lives, conversational do-overs, and refusing to give up.

  1. Day one.
  2. I leave the switch and write instead by the steel blue light of the rising day. A blanket of clouds behind the rooftops teases rain, and I wonder what today holds, savoring the quiet but listening for thunder.
  3. The one thing I don’t like about fishing is the chasm of disappointment between a tug on the line and reeling it in empty. Doing it with sand between my toes and a beer in my hand is one thing; doing it with my livelihood is another.
  4. I sense the thinnest edge of resistance–more skittish than awkward–but I pretend not to notice, preferring the familiar patter I’ve missed these quiet years to the hurt we pretend not to feel.
  5. I’m getting used to feeling hungry.
  6. For four hours, we talk, laugh, reveal, and encourage the way we should have five years ago. How much we’ve grown.
  7. “It’s not about how to juggle all this stuff at once anymore; it’s about choosing which thing I’m going to drop each day.”
  8. I pray viciously against the darkness, railing against signs too early to be noticed by anyone except another victim. You cannot have her.
  9. Caffeine at 7:30pm. #rebel
  10. Let us not grow weary.

Author: Ellie

Uppity stardust. Will eat (almost) anything.

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