some days are the worst.
some whole chunks of time are the worst. and then something touches you, and causes you to feel completely restored.
even for just a moment.
yesterday i saw a compilation of brutishness. when i finally returned home, i found a envelope from a friend. inside there was a simple, neutral sheet of paper, folded once, carefully concealing the words that would make me cry.
last week there was a spoken word show in chicago, a group of my friends went, and i was equally jealous and thrilled for them. one of those performing was anis mojgani, who i have admired since my sister first sent me a video of one of his performances. after falling for his words, i sent them to another friend, and another, and another, i’m sure. and then one of them sat in what i imagine was a packed and stuffy, tiny auditorium filled with with anxious admirers waiting to soak in words and sentences to feel that same sense restoration of that i mentioned. she sat in the audience and thought enough about me to get this poet’s attention for a moment to ask him to sign something for me.
my cup runneth over.
‘will it make me something? will i be something? am i something?
and the answer comes,
and i still have time to be.’