Days Late but a Little More Thankful

For the things I’m thankful for, I give everything I can. I
hope.

For everything that I’m grateful for, there are a million and
a half things that I always forget to acknowledge.

Here are a few…

The cracks in the sidewalk that serve as reminders that lava
flows even in New York.

The snow that makes me as excited as seeing an old friend
for the first time.

The sun bouncing across horizons, as a train pushes forward
to a destination I never expected.

The ability to walk down the street and feel my muscles
tense as I can feel that my body is working.

The breaths I take to remind myself that everything is in
its right place.

The emotions I feel when I realize I haven’t felt them in a
while, again like an old friend but maybe with this one I chose not say anything.

The time waiting on the escalator when I get off the train before I have to walk down the street to my desk, the song’s that I’m able to cram into the journey to coffee.

The benches I need during the spaces in my day that let me sit down and fade.

The neighborhoods, that never remain the same, but the people that always are always hiding the pain, reminding us we’re all one in the same.

The fact that Muji ball point pens are just viscus enough with their ink that they glide better than almost anything that’s come before.

The text messages that come out of nowhere, and smack you in the face with a grin you can’t help but show off.

The evenings when nothing makes sense, and you’re friends decide to just come out to shoot the shit while in agreement that we’re fucked up, but that’s okay.

The things on the internet that I read that knock the wind out of me, I didn’t that… who am I kidding, of course I did.

The people I meet that I never would have dreamed I could just a few years ago, the adventures in hilarity, or just sitting there.

The walnut brownies that fuck me up, but I still eat them cause they’re powerful, anyway.

The incredible impulse to live overriding the impulse to be safe, safety is kept for the ones I love, I can’t afford it.

The nuances of not knowing when I’m Falling into oblivion, but inevitably finding my way out.

The needles that hold together my mind after weeks of explosions and out of context conversations, the hour of silence in which I find refuge.

The time I spend marveling at the leaves as they slowly change their pigment, abdicating to the natural way of their existence.

The hazard lights as they blink while I wait for an unending amount of time outside for someone I love coming in and join me on an adventure I couldn’t help but follow.

The space between moments when I’m consciously able to put words on paper, that gives me the voice to say something the next time.

The thoughts that I cannot seem to get out pointing me towards the things I should say or should have, I’m not sure anymore.

The flowers growing in the planter set in the middle of the this effigy of the end of humanity.

The routine that is never the same, random people here and there, but always puts me back in the same place.

The rain as it hits the windows as it rides the wind like an old companion down to the sound shop where it will trade speed for the sound it will make.

The assumptions people have made about who I am, keep guessing, cause I don’t even know.

The laugh that my mother gives when she’s truly more happy than concerned with one thing or another.

The warmth I feel when even my limited idea of a family is happy just smiling with one another.

The confused bewilderment my brother is able to remind me of every time he shows me he’ll be alright with just smiling.

The cat as she sits with me, while we eat our breakfasts of turkey and eggs.

The Batista with the awesome hat, who likes Oscar Wao , and seems to always be smiling.

The books that teach the ways of the mechanics of the mind, reminding me to go easy on my so unreasonable taxation that I’ve levied with heavy fines.

The coffee that I shouldn’t drink anymore, cause its just a habit now, one of simplicity within the complex.

The uncharacteristic frankness that I unknowingly have become accustomed to, many call it being too blunt, I call it a blister after being rubbed the wrong way too much.

The Boosh, cause one does not know joy unless they can appreciate the sublime glory of multi role screen time.

The alt key, because the amount of alt+tabbing that I require on a daily basis is truly disgusting, but fascinating nonetheless.

The fights I get into over the fact that I’m not as happy as I should be, It’ll happen when it happens, I know that.

The pain that reminds me that I a complex series of processes, governed by laws I understand but can’t even being to explain, reminding me sometimes to stand still.

The consistency of a hard drive that won’t fail, really though its about the stickers I get to cover them in afterwards.

The Everyone who I can no longer sit, lay, or tell stories with, those times happened, I might wish there were more, but all I need were those (sometimes toothless) smiles.

The haze that accompanies my body everywhere it goes, floodlighting the obvious, I’m alive.

The fact that I feel like nothing I ever do is finished. It always has something to be followed up on, a snare that needs tightening or a mix that needs, well, proper mixing. It baffles me so that, it takes me so long to write out these lines, probably because phones are conducive to focused sit down writing, but that’s all I have most of the time. Than again, I could have no time. No period of occasional wellness that puts me in the position to even put two words together, albeit, while waiting for one thing or another.

It makes my willingness tempered and expected to falter, for: “What’s the point?”

To which I must be reminded: “Whats not?”

Love, be, and remember to live to live. Not for any one/thing/else.

 

I am Alive

I am Alive

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