Lately I’ve been writing on the kitchen floor, cold tiles kissing my thighs, masking the heat of a city suffocating in the final weeks of summer. Even the beach feels stifling, the water too sticky. And so I sit on the floor, press my palm to the tiles, grab my phone to write while waiting for water to boil. The dog comes near and sits at my side, desperate for recognition and also a walk. Not in this heat, I tell her. In my peripheral, I see her one blue eye staring up at me, and also the crumbs and dust I missed during the last clean. Usually this would bother me but today, I just sit.
Lately I’ve been saying yes to every question, challenging myself to expand and stretch beyond my perceived capacity. This is on purpose, an intentional response after years of watching dreams slip through my fingers. Something shifted in the ocean last December when the sun painted the sky pink. I don’t believe in magic, but that night, the air was potent with healing. I…
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