This is water
. Everything feels extra soft. The sheets, the pillows, the mattress. I consider staying here all day, but who would bring me coffee?
. The only thing that seems to be thriving in this heat are the cicadas. I can hear them through closed windows and over the hum of the a/c.
. Peaches that taste like the sunscreen and salt off my lips .
. “The really important kind of freedom involves attention, and awareness, and discipline, and effort, and being able truly to care about other people and to sacrifice for them, over and over, in myriad petty little unsexy ways, every day. That is real freedom. The alternative is unconsciousness… the constant gnawing sense of having had and lost some infinite thing.”
. Wash the cherries. Flowers into water. Put away the groceries. Mailbox is empty. Dry the dishes.
. This is a feeling I recognize. Apartness. Maybe ‘cause of how untethered I am, how far from family and native land I am. But this is my own doing, my own choices.
. Someone yells at me across the parking lot. “Hot enough for ya?!”. Do I know this person? Has he mistaken me for someone else? Are we all just delirious from the heat?
. Housing costs are only going up and I don’t have the energy for a second job and maybe I shouldn’t spend so much time around other people’s dogs.
. Everyone is armed with their own bottle of wine and a camping chair.
. The fireflies want nothing to do with our bug spray.
. What feels like home?