A strange, warm breeze passes by my ears in an ever-so-piercing cold water by the creek. I just learned Planet of the apes 1968 was filmed here. Not that it matters, but somehow when a movie is assigned to a place, I find myself to have been a part of history.
I etched our name into the nearby rock in a heart, then a cat inside the heart, then the heart as a cat. This declaration, like all others, will change shape.
I sit here, waiting for him to come back to me. I am developing a huge bruise on my leg, and I hope it’s the color purple and yellow. He, in brown plaid boxers, takes a cold plunge like all men do.
I haven’t written much the past few months besides a few attempts at doing daily morning journaling and airing out my petty grievances on paper. I attribute it to life being more mundane, quieter. Temporarily gone are the nights of delirium where I find myself putting words to my desperate feelings and desire to change. I am always changing, yet I can never keep up with accepting how differently it looks.
shari wei 