Dear Eighteen, Here you are. Yesterday’s child is today’s legal adult, and yet, nothing has really changed.
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cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
Dear Eighteen, Here you are. Yesterday’s child is today’s legal adult, and yet, nothing has really changed.
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I breathe in the quiet of this day, a welcome pause in the middle of a full summer.
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We’ll always share the same birthday, right?
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Sitting at my desk, I sense a presence sidle up beside me.
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I’m committing to being silent the entire ride home. Either that or I’m listening to classical music. I choose silence.
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I don’t know how to do this.
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“My family and I are looking for sex.”
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One day is today.
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I’m tired. This season has left me drained. Physically, emotionally, spiritually.
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Heavy winter snow finally turns to rain, releasing itself to spring’s thaw.
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