Accepting the Packed Bag

I am bittersweet. I leave you the hello and goodbye in the same sentence, same kiss, the very same word. Get your cold hands away from me. Please. I want to come and go as I please.

I am most myself when I am traveling which means, yes. I am happy most as my body in transit, floating to or from. Rinse and repeat. I will always be your ex-lover on repeat through the old stereo. The words of a Rory Gallagher song go hhhhmmm mmmmm “I packed my things in an overnight bag, A toothbrush and guitar, got no tail to drag.”

My people and my things are borrowed black t-shirts, postcards and the smell of sage in a brown bottle. My life sets up, becomes something. I become someone in the middle of a somewhere. Then the universe unravels in days. The clock is ticking here. Sweet bitter mortality crashes through the solar plexis sideways.

I like the way my pet rats accepts each moment as one that is whole. Here she is in my bedroom. She’s crawling on my shoulders, down my sweater and onto the floor. A week is more than enough time to decide whether or not to accept destiny.

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