Because summer is when now scrapes itself down to skin; because the late light allows you perceive, through the moment's membrane, the pumping of what was and what might have been; because the heat pins me, blanches my will-
I'm looking back through past blog entries.
I was a good writer. I am not as adept, now. I was a quick thinker. I'm slower, now. But I was also hungrier, and lonelier, and poorly housebroken. I'm not sure who I'd rather be.
Forgetting is how we keep on.
