one quip at a time

I’m a habitually tardy person, but I was always on time for you. That should tell someone most of what they’d need to know to understand.

But now I’m up, and you’re down. I prefer to walk in the sunshine and it sends you running from its disinfectant.

And so I made a list. I gained comfort in naming, categorizing, and organizing my pain. I took out my yellow legal pad and made meticulous notes to make sure I got it all down and won’t ever need to revisit this again.

But like someone once said: these were not soothing words. They were not water words with round edges and the ease to fill any shape. These were sharp, ugly words, the ones hard to write and harder to read.

And then what? Is any of it worth saying? Is it more powerful sitting in a drawer in my room than screamed at the top of my lungs?

At the end, my willingness, my optimism, and my careful list will just be added to the rest of the pile.