Has found me living, and I'm not sure how to write such a discovery.
To say that I am happy is too clich�d to waste in such an anonymous format--it is best saved for the old-friend-turned-acquaintance whom you meet unexpectedly while shopping.
When I think of happy, I think of kittens lapping milk. I think of new, perfect-fitting jeans. I think of Spring. Shimmering newness.
And although there are many new, vibrant pages in my life, happy fails me.
Instead, I am crocheted potholders and knitted scarves. I am cream-of-wheat cereal and a cup of cocoa. I am cold soil on bare feet. I am the smell of earth before and after rain in June. I am the fragrance of apples simmering into applesauce.
Two-Thousand-Four.
Has found me here.
In a new apartment with my lover. Blue-translucent curtains. Wood floors the color of dark brown sugar.