Sunday flowers

Everybody is happy or sad. It shows in their voice.

Everybody is making babies or getting demoted at work. It shows in the way they walk.

Everybody is finding that thing they lost or searching for something to save them. It shows in the imaginary thought bubble above their head.

Life is silly that way.

I want to be rich, I want to be free, I want to live every day like it’s my last, but my brain and father say save for the unknown future. Save for the rainy day that will never come.

So, in the meantime, I’m trying to realize. I’m trying to keep present in the presence because it won’t last- I know this. You know this. It will be another lost moment in time as soon as we walk away and maybe- just maybe- I’ll remember in five years when the smell of nostalgia smacks me in the face down that one corridor in that one building I’ve never stepped foot in.

So, in the meantime, I’ll turn my phone on silent- or better yet just leave it at home and let’s roam record stores and forget.

Let’s go to the ocean and get our feet wet.

Let’s get lost among the giants in Humboldt.

Let’s dance like it’s the last time.

Let’s go for a drive until the road ends.

Let’s melt in the couch until our bones dethaw.

Let’s cause a commotion, then cease to exist.

Let’s pick Sunday flowers to make our apartment feel warm and invigorating.

It’s all so tempting.