In this last month, I’ve fluttered so close to non-existence that I almost splattered into a rubbish pile of atoms.
My therapist recommended against this.
Through my days of silence and thought, she has gentle-pushed me into all manner of small companionships.
My therapist says to respond to Owen’s instagram message. My therapist says to follow Di’s Instagram feed. To read Dinah’s blog. To call Jessie and ask to see the ducklings. To text Matt for confirmation that the world is not ending. To walk over to Sarah’s house. My therapist says to ask Donny for a weekend away.
(My therapist says hi.)
I have done mostly none of that because I somehow grew larger than time herself, you see. In my pocket is a full moon and a rested sun and three or four unfished weeks. I think there is a whole day stuck in my back molar, and several hours under my nails.
But, one day, sometime in this frame, Cookie sent me a text and said she could come and see me. I kept very careful count of the days and hours, and still was a bit late, but what is late when it has been years and years? What is late when the last time we saw each other, the State owned all our time?
She is beautiful, still.
On this day, we ate crêpes. We walked a downtown street and decided to make ourselves headbands of flower and shell and ribbon and joy. We visited multiple shops to gather up beauties and then we sat outside in the sunshine, and drank juice, and put them together.
This was a day bigger than time or dinosaurs, and we were bigger than free.
More about Cookie:
Part 3 of ?