Lighthouse

Over Here.

Here I am.

Glory.

Here I am.

Seeping dirt and candlelight in grease water overdose

Quarter to mid night

I am merciless

I am glorious

I am a hot glorious mercy filled mess

I come home to a glass of wine and a chapter of Chimamanda Adichie’s glorious writing.

I use the word glory too often and too lightly, often.

I still think about my Grandfather, more and more these days, in all his glory, I mean the word here. I mean to use it here.

I’m driving full force towards a pull that’s both frightening and exhilarating

I think too much about a lot of things… and look at me.

It’s all right. It’s all going to be fine

Keep breathing darlin. I say.

Over here. Every thing.

All at once.

The lighthouse.

I am pulled toward the light house

I dream of dwelling in a light house.

I’ve grown accustomed to the act of packing. I could move house in my sleep. And I do. It has taken 21 years to observe, learn and implement this.

I am pulled toward the lighthouse.

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