One week down of Spring 2010, and the world is not too much (yet). Starting to feel the isolation again, but I see it's been voluntary. That I could connect more if I chose to. I haven't chosen to until today. Today the sun beams over the cold grass and the wind is calm and I want to make things move.
Every medium I use is a graveyard to someone else. I write anyway. Marking present time into memories for the return.
My cousin tells her two-year-old daughter, "Use your words."
I wake up and see my words as little girls cartwheeling. As older girls getting ideas.