My nails are too long to scratch story, so I soft swipe the letters on my phone. The tub is too hot for my laptop. The day was too long for anything but float.
Today was a lot of time.
Today was a lot about time.
I lost track, over the years.
I lost years.
I hand two crisp two-dollar-bills to two big pair of hands. As they marvel at the crispness, the hands become small and familiar. I remember seeing those small hands the way these hands see these small bills.
I’ve found so much wonder over the years.
The foghorn bruises the ocean quiet. The sunlight hides the wind.
My long pink nails make my hands look soft. My soft hands make my life look easy. I like the fancy of that.
I like the butterfly of my fingers against the flat keys. I like a hot water bath and how it peels the day from me.
My fingers flutter a story better off scratched. My fingers flutter a story that parades itself backwards through time.
I enjoy the float.