sadness pervades my existence. I journal in the middle of afternoon, 82° blue skies in De Pere today, and the wind tours quickly. I should sit outside. I am so private. Sadness at how things turn out, thinking back to Holland wind and Erik’s dead mouth, the amount I journaled about unlove with him, the waste that goes toward building an educated self. I want to get high now but have a coffee date with Ashley at 3pm. I moved to outside—I now sit on the back porch on the yellow booth beside the lilacs. The lilacs make me want to cry.
I have waited so long for this beautiful day. I sit outdoors in a thin white blouse and black leggings and feel ease and comfort beside the lilacs, swaying dignified in the current. I hate Dean for choosing now to roll in the garbage can. He smiles at me sweetly as he goes back in. Of course I don’t hate Dean but merely the roll of the trash bin.
One is punished for wanting life to matter so much. One is likewise punished for quietly abandoning meaning, for the silent conviction that life is an old clock ticking, who once in a while needs a dust.