You are a brilliant virus caught inside of me. Invisible origin. Glow worms in the amethyst caves.
My brain paints our disconnected limbs–tied in the way ivy struggles for sunlight.
Listen to me carefully:
I am the sound of close orbit, and you are my collision.
I wake up in San Francisco. The chaotic rush of cars down 19th Avenue stir me each morning. The mellow sunlight peels my eyelids open. I stretch my legs across the brown cushions. Then, I remember where I am: sprawled on a friend’s couch in the Sunset District in the city of San Francisco. I am homeless, unemployed, and in debt. Yet, I somehow still feel an overwhelming sense of liberation in contrast to where I used to be: stifled and withering in a small town nestled in the dead center of Nowhere, Washington; 10.8 square miles of scrawny vineyards, the snow-covered vines whispering to each other, ‘sleep now.’ I burned a bridge in that town. I wonder if it still smoulders.
Today, I woke up in San Francisco. There are mountains just there, in the distance. And the Pacific Ocean, a tram’s ride away. My heart is intact and I am alive, breathing.
I am unbroken.
I am full of potential.
Every day, I wake up in San Francisco: the sunlight dancing about the living room, bright like eager smiles, or eyes in-love. I think about how far I’ve come. Where will I go from here? Who will I be? No, none of that. I am here, and I am me.
Learning how to stay, learning how to be.
Heart At Bay 