you gave me a white, hard shell from the sea A salmon colored shirt that smells like you and stories of swimming across an ocean to save drowning dogs from imminent death though sometimes your mouth spews meanness and I run from you in a thunderstorm wishing you would be who you were when you forgot what you thought you knew i miss your mouth and the way you smell
Moving. Holy God. Moving. Words that this activity brings to mind include: interminable, anxiety, memories, entrances, exits, purging, endless, more and less Packing shit into boxes just keeps happening. When we might think that the end is in sight that just means that the corner of a piece of a room might be complete by the end of the day tomorrow if you can surrender yourself to the idea that you will NEVER use these things that have been covered in dust for the past year and a half; because that is how long it has been since you have even looked at any of this. I am exaggerating… not even a little. But multiply that by hundreds of crevices in this house full of shit that we thought maybe one day we might have a relationship with/look at/be impacted by/read again if only the mood/day/ something so moved you to. Yeah. That never happens. So with the assistance of many people who care about us A LOT- and who need to follow me around with large garbage bags tha...
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