26 March 2014
I wonder how you are doing. What you see when you look out the window every morning. How the breeze feels like when it passes through your hair.
As for me the days seem longer. Or maybe it’s just the quiet, and me, here, in the corner. Last night–or was it two nights ago?–my hands smelled like oranges. I peel them and let the juices flow between my fingers. I break them open like a flower blooming.
The purpose of life is to be defeated by greater and greater things, says Rilke. Let it be said that I found these small orange bulbs to be holy, and whole. I sat in my bed knowing tenderness.