It is times when there is little happiness to be found. It is times when I move through the rooms of my house like a caged animal, pacing. Seeking what. Seeking to dispel what. When the people I love have shuttered the windows of their souls against some bad weather and sought the comfort of their own solitude and show some intention to remain there.

I am better off left outside at any rate. I am a poor host at times.

Standing at the back of the yard in the fading light, I flex my useless hands and bite my lip and wish for something like rain.


I am going to learn how to inhabit this place without wishing for it to be something other than what it is, without trying to numb it or fight it. Any of the numberless gimmicks I have long resorted to in my efforts not to face my own dark reflection in the glass.

I’ll just sit with it.


What do I got to lose?


We got a bitterness in us that grows like a weed.

We got a glory, too.