5/5 rachel v. 7 months ago on Google • 2 reviews
The
air
is
humid
and
warm,
a
kind
thought
that
knows
I
feel
loved
by
its
touch
on
my
skin,
where
it
melts
into
me
on
a
day
like
today
that
feels
a
little
less
than
whole.
I
came
to
sit
by
the
water,
so
maybe
I
could
be
the
girl
who
sits
by
the
water
who,
if
you
turned
a
close
eye
to
the
very
center
of
her
beating
heart,
has
quiet
peace
and
fullness.
I
wanted
that
instead
of
what
I
find
in
my
center
today-
a
hole,
a
little
less
than
whole.
Walking
down
a
muddy
side
path,
the
ground
was
crossed
with
a
snail’s
silver
remembering
of
time.
Or
maybe
the
silver
was
mica.
The
same
sheets
of
silver
I
saw
in
the
dream
of
my
childhood-
silver
sheets
of
rock,
a
field
making
the
sound
of
rain
and
clapping
beneath
my
feet,
curving
like
an
iris
against
gray
clouds,
between
which
a
lone
kangaroo
bridged
the
ground
and
the
sky
as
it
turned
to
look
at
me.
The
water’s
surface
moves
like
it’s
raining,
though
it
isn’t.
I
think
about
how
rain
falling
into
a
pond
is
just
water
rejoining
itself.
The
sun
kisses
my
right
side.
A
turtle’s
shell
is
peeling
off.
The
clouds
open
up
windows
of
blue
above
the
city.
I
settle
more
into
the
rock.
Around
me,
there
is
what
is.
An
elderly
couple
watches
the
turtles.
Families
glide
green
canoes
across
green
glass,
and
their
voices
skim
across
the
water
like
ice
skims
across
ice.
I
have
come
during
summer,
and
the
flowers
murmur
in
the
breeze,
reminding
me
to
be
slow
and
listen.
And
a
lot
of
people
have
come
to
sit
on
this
silver
rock
and
look
at
the
water
like
me.
The
city
breathes
beyond
the
tree
edges.
Pictures
are
taken,
someone
stumbles
and
laughs.
I
stand
to
go
and
the
rock
surface
has
left
thoughts
of
a
burnt
red
ocean
on
the
backs
of
my
thighs.
I
wonder
if
I’ve
become
more
like
the
girl
that
I
wanted
to
be
when
I
arrived,
someone
whose
heart
has
peace
and
quiet
where
mine
has
a
hole
(today).
Maybe
I
have.
Do
I
feel
a
little
more
full,
has
the
hole
sighed
in
upon
itself
for
a
moment?
I
don’t
know.
But
it’s
nice
to
sit
for
a
moment,
while
other
people
have
come
here
too.
I’m
sure
they
are
thinking
about
whatever
it
is
that
lives
at
the
center
of
their
own
quietly
beating
hearts,
too.
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