after getting my tires changed and blowing 40 bones at old navy. Listening to the same song over and over in my driveway and realizing things.
in the middle of the night I was half awake with the breeze coming in. it made me feel this place that I’ve felt before. I could have been between the ages of 7 and 10. it was the first time I remember that really really really good feeling of being completely alone.
It didn’t take long to walk there. The back door was open, and the water-damaged hardwood floors were covered with moss in some places. I sat down with my back against the wall, and with one hand, without looking, reached up and opened the window above me. The warm wind from the woods felt good on my bare legs. I looked at them. I didn’t hate them at all. In fact, they were perfect. I could never love a part of my body more.
I pulled out the plain, white envelope from my front pocket. On it were two 25 cent stamps: a Barn Swallow and a Blue Jay. I walked here to read it alone, and I didn’t feel alone enough. Part of me still needed to disengage, but it just wouldn’t let go.
I ended up burning the letter without ever reading it. Does it really matter? Does any of it really matter? If I let him say that, or if I write back and say this. What would it change?
I’ve always run up hills and pushed people back down until they were laughing. When is someone gonna push me?
The wind made two mistakes.