Sunday and October.

Coffee cup is full.
Rain drops slide down my window distorting my skyline, quieting my insides.
Gentle acoustics give birth to rest; a retreat from my mind's contraband while blinding (gray) light fills my apartment, spilling shapes and shadows on what I thought I knew...what used to be familiar. Questions stretch themselves out inside of me; taking seats, claiming real-estate, and blanketing me in wonder.

Revelations, gratitude, and simple joys devour my day. My feet dance in, around, and then out of the kitchen. Every step ripe with intention.

I sit, write - I feel. I think of him, and then all the other hims who discarded my love, who unknowingly made me indestructible and more impassioned than one could ever expect to be.
I seek the words of strangers within the perfectly perfumed, discolored, and faded pages of books, older than I, and weighted with wisdom and healing.

I am consumed. Enchanted.
By this day, by this month.
By this (my) life.