You do such a good job telling me what to want. I do such a good job wanting. Something in my gut. I’d die to come back as a fly on your wall. Am I precious? Am I wandering barefoot through the hedge maze in the rain? Fingers hooked in my dangling heels, mascara everywhere? I’m worried about my habits. I’m worried about my desires. I’m worried about my worry. The sun hits it just right and you can see the digital photo without even taking it. But, I’ve done things that I never thought possible. My changing body, animal angel. Buttons down the front of my sea glass shirt.

Good things come to those who wait. What would I earn if I waited forever?

(We left so much hanging in the air that meteorologists issued a severe weather warning.)