Life has been a series of grim events lately — more black than white, less light and more shadows: creeping, lurking, just waiting to pounce.
I have not been in a while but recently I have been even less so: happy. I miss conversations, hugs, and music that I share with friends over beer, or wine, or iced tea. I miss kissing, and sharing dreams under a canvas of stars. I miss getting tangled limbs, thumbs brushing over mine as we clasp fingers under sheets.
I miss late night drives, and huddling close as we watch horror movies. I miss sleepovers and preparing overzealous breakfasts for people who will be too hungover to eat — they will ask for coffee, coffee, coffee, and all I can give them is the leftover grounds that I use for my paintings.
I miss waking up and earnestly wondering what pleasant surprises the universe has in store for me. Neither a list of new deaths or news of rising infections, but clean air, perhaps a new mountain available for hiking. Something interesting to draw. Dancing. Maybe finally making a playlist that isn’t entitled “Good songs for bad days.”
I guess I just miss good days. And good songs for good days.
I haven’t felt it in a long while.
Of perpetual finds 