Perhaps everyone has a story that could break your heart.
Who doesn't want to just disappear, at some point in the day, in a year, to just step off the map and float?
Perhaps it is our fear, that in the silence between stories, in the moment of falling, the fear that we will never find the one story which will save us, and so we lunge for another, and we feel safe again, if only for as long as we are telling it.
On a good day I write, all day.
inside us, a flower taken whole, a field built inside.
Some part of me knew he would show up, that if I stood in one place long enough he would find me, like you're taught to do when you're lost. But they never taught us what to do if both of you are lost, and you both end up in the same place, waiting.