𓅯｡𖦹° 10.13.26 one thousand days in a row of daily drawings today. had a chocolate almond butter cup to celebrate. ﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏ 10.12.26 I found the rings with resin pressed flowers that I'd been looking for for two years. they were tucked in a bag in a box from before our move, presumably to keep them safe. I'm wearing the perfume k sent me years ago too and so smell like salt and old sunscreen from brown bottles when it melts liquid and oily from the heat of my freckled skin. there is a divot in my calf from where my wound is healing, like someone pressed a thumb in and the skin never bounced back, but the line of stitches is closed. today is 999 days of drawing in a row; I hope I can finish work soon so that I can spend a little time with my paper instead of jotting off a study or two before bed. c texted me the other day to say he'd found persimmons at the store and asked if i wanted some / f stopped by and gave me a hug / we went apple picking over the weekend / i asked if a place was hiring (they are!) and i'm crossing my fingers / on sunday, in bed with j in the afternoon, the windows open and the only sound that of wind through the leaves brushing them clean. ﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏ 10.08.26 thinking of sitting at the table by the window with my sister at elm coffee in seattle, both of us draped in sun—the passing shadows of pigeons casting charcoal doubles as they whirled from street corner to sky—my sister reading louise glück and anne carson and pulling colored pencils from the red embroidered case I had as a teenager, while I wrote in my journal—perhaps a slice of cake frosted pink at the london plane to share later, before we took the light rail or bus home—my genmaicha tea cooling in a pale blue cup, her face moving in and out of the light— eight years ago, after one such afternoon, we got caught in the rain waiting for the 40 at 3rd avenue and james. in the photos and videos I took on my phone, she is laughing, her dark hair wet against her shoulders. rain rolled down her face and mine. we were heading home together most of the way—we lived in the same city and would never be alone—we loved all the same poems. I knew I wanted to remember that happiness forever, and I would, and I do. ﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏ say hello ⋰⋰⋰ yourworldoftext.com/~rhizomehaunt/