another grey rainy day and i am smiling. inside , warm and dry. the clocks are singing. backwards the song plays. soft and imploding into itself. things fall from the floor to the shelf. everything is as it should be. i wish i knew what that means. but i cant remember. i watch the carpet fade. the fabric fray. the dust settle. outside the rain calls me. tapping my name on the windows. i think when im done writing this, i will go outside and walk. its the first thunderstorm since spring and i am smiling. i will go to the store and buy bread and cigarettes and i will pretend that these little things add structure to my life. that they somehow shore up the crumbling walls. that they will patch the roof and the water will stop washing my mind.
the sky is a car crash of clouds. the sky. the sky. the sky. twenty years of sky have passed in a pack of cigarettes and i hardly noticed. i grew old and cold and didnt bat an eye. my blood turned to dust and i didnt so much as shiver. one gets used to these things when they creep in so slowly. the slight disrepair crept in quietly. now its a way of life. there is no god above, only clouds and i will go out and surrender to their tears. i will walk in their gifts and be washed anew. cleansed and released. and when i come home i will stand in front of the mirror and not flinch. and i will not wonder how much longer i am required to travel this road. and i will turn my cam back on for the first time in months.
the rain tells me that if i come outside, it will heal me. it will wash away the pools and the stains. the debris of this life will wash down a storm drain and i will be renewed. no longer a work in progress unviewed. the landscape is changing and i will rebuild the list of things that change.