So tonight the moon smiled at us.
As I held a brick on my head, lillies in my hands and twists in my heart.
It's 70 before we start shaking and the 25th before our lives begin with the things we put on the shelves.
She squealed and I accidentally made a promise I may purposefully not keep.
Sometimes, we must begin again, when we're too far out.
Then late at night, when she's happy, we realize that we're not far enough.
Things aren't quiet enough or seldom enough, but never long enough either.
She's never still enough.
We're just not here enough.
And those letters, just don't amount to enough.
J.
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