I try to calculate the time it takes to scratch these words. Thoughts fade and flare. Ink across the paper registers a kind of time theft during which I fictionalize an ongoing present, the ever-elusive me, you, here, and there, all existing somehow in a slightly fraudulent now.
—Gretel Ehrlich, Unsolaced: Along the Way to All That Is
An ache, August slides through us. Anger is a desire.
To be over, to feel done. It’s exhausting to be inside this repetition.
But there are people to love as dirty dishes sit waiting in the sink.
You suggested I seek forgiveness—self—and absence—perspective.
I felt ambitious in the suspense and tried to relax my anxious heart.
I waited for the world, for the arc to return to a luminous point.
As reference, I believe love is best when it is enduring—
steady as starlight or accountability and September light.
Notice who is around you; who shows up.
What will be left in this new space is courage.
Cache Culture 