when I have finished folding laundry and myself I take the final light before nighttime by the creek. plugging my ears with someone else's voice I try to be alone. though I can't hear the stream I can't escape the shriek of my own thinking. birds invisible in shadow watch from branches hanging over a path I can still believe in without seeing. their laughter pierces through whatever silly score of songs I chose for comfort. I call my parents, terrified by my inability to be alone. they join me on my walk. we ask and answer the same questions we will ask tomorrow. our daily census means so little yet it's all I know for sure.
on the stream I ebb and flow between hope and dread. too much of one is dangerous, too little can be foolish. both have the sway to drown me where I drift. I think about moderation and how much better I should be at sitting still. each cloud is different and not every day warrants monuments. I smile at your name when it lights up my phone. maybe the moment is enough.
hope and dread are angels on my shoulders. both imply each other and seem to want me well. I wish I could know them both a little less.
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