I keep forgetting I live in the Bay Area and pretend I am in SoCal with sunny skies and sea breezes, because here it is gray skies and freeways underneath my window while gulls circle overhead looking for some semblance of the ocean.
(which is here, somewhere, past the city, I am sure, but it's crowded by narrow streets and 45 degree hills and a giant blinking gold sign that points this way for Chocolate).
Today I am not a poet.
I will be a poet tomorrow.
Today I am a sleeper behind a fogged window on which I draw a heart and smile because it's cold outside, in the city, and my Home is miles away.
3 comments:
you are always a poet.
And I know the feeling. It's funny....because now that I'm here, I often find myself thinking of home as sunny skies and palm trees, but for so long home meant mountains and changing leaves....my brain hurts.
But...I know the feeling.
I love you.
http://whyimangryatgod.blogspot.com/
http://whyimnotangryatgod.blogspot.com/
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