“You’ll make more.” He’s right. Like kisses, creativity, and every little moment, I am going to get more, make more, love more, take more, feel more, share more, cry more, and beam more. My mantra, “You should be here with me, living our life,” echoes out quite often, but I love you despite it. Thank you for giving my life meaning and scarcity: a beacon of grace and a complete mystery. Coins I pocket, flip, spend, and savor all my life. I love you. Happy Birthday.
Brat summer, bratwurst summer, and boat summer. 24, 25, and 26. Three of these left if I’m lucky and I’ll be sucking the meat off the bones. Breathing it out (breaths of fire), and living my life as it’s meant to be lived: crucial and rare. I usually get what I want, and I’d save you if you wanted saving. Instead I’ll pet the caged dog on my way back to the city. I understand. I’m unique. But why? Don’t you want to suck the meat off the bones?
I have never had more agency. I’ve never been more willing to surrender. I’ve never lived on a boat before, but I feel the wave sweeping me up, gently, quickly, and I see myself willed into my own dreams. Ripe, ugly, and beautiful, the kelp is ready to be harvested and dried, and a seafaring vessel is bound for a new shore. Is it paradise? Talk to me in an hour…
A moment like this is rare. A moment like this dissipates suddenly, slowly in the night like smoke. A moment is only made of all the moments preceding it, and that’s how I know this moment is real. And hey – it could be Rebecca Black’s “My Moment” but I am content with that. For the first time in a long time, I do not fear failure, embarrassment, or doughy crust. I only fear not jumping. Not barking or making, and not finding an option out of this idea. My fear is falling off the mountain before meeting the horizon and that’s something I’d never do. I’m ready to let myself go.
This year, I’ll send a Christmas card for the first time on my own. On my own. It has a nice feeling to it. And then I’ll survive this year. I’ll thrive in it.