Today is the difference. Recrudescence. The beginning and the making new. Early yet, wet hair in lavender, leaving lavender sprigs behind the ear as a note. The warmth of a house, the windows shut up unlikely, unlike I, usually, tend to be, or to want.
It is enough, to want. I won't try a thing, and the omittances will remain things of doing, will remain the regular occurrences. The ways in which to do it, to make it. What I am making? a promise at myself, selfsame promise made of months. to read, to drink in the words, to eat & ingest the thoughts about them. And distractions weigh heavy, for to sit elsewhere than this bed on this morning is to say, too much is doing. I want not but to drink & eat & swallow & savor your words and notices, and to share and feed it in conjoined mouths.
