We are so hemmed in at the moment by all of the stuff we, knowingly/willingly or not, surround ourselves with. I'm getting so weary, swimming underwater like this. The stuff is blocking my way. The time has come to uncover the floor and the corners. It is time to make room for the light to pour in. I've got to be tired and cranky for a little while longer as I make my way to the surface.
I won't visit you this month. You won't call. I will raid your garden and you won't get any of the vegetables. I will make plans without telling you about them. We'll go to the store and not buy you one single thing. Whole books will be read and I will not tell you which ones. I will watch movies and not inform you. The nasturiums will ripen. Last month was different. I changed my schedule and took time off work to be with you. I dropped all kinds of plans for us to be together. You sent me messages, I received them. I picked up food that I thought you would like at the store and sent you pictures of every beautiful thing I saw. I sang with you. We watched the Great Canadian Baking Show. You chose the recipe for the garlic scape pesto and gave me instructions for making the gooseberry jam. I am in August without you. You are in July.
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