Maybe I'll get a pony-sized dog, with big paws and melty eyes.
Maybe someday soon I'll get a tiny tattoo.
Maybe I'll meet new people, people who light up when they talk about strange, specific things.
Maybe I'll find people to play music with.
Maybe I'll start writing poetry again.
There's new tea to try, and watercolors to buy, and books to read. There's blankets and flannel shirts and postcards to send.
Maybe I'll get my ease back.
Maybe someday soon.
(Two days ago, my best friend asked me if I was okay. And, yet again, he proved himself a better listener and a better friend than I ever dared to hope for. I love him more than I can elucidate. But maybe he'll read this, and know how much it meant.)
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