Anxious temperament.
The not-in-dis-repair-electronic:typewriter.
Is stowing under the bed and tinkering in a realm where
The golden-slate tablet didn’t exist and I look at all the novel
Remnants scattered amongst my room.
A battery of the wisest and oldest remnants of hey-days
And absolution ways
And I chose to dispel the kiddy-trays
But kept the tv-table.
Childhood revolves in sequences where the first loves never really lo[ea]ve you.
The wanderer for what-i-like and what I went without that I keep around now seem
All too similar when I gasp around family and find the notions of what felt like lifetimes ago and they ease comfortably into niche.
A catchup or two and my revolving mind simmers against what has always been there.
Anxiety for 6 days to prep just in case and you read my mind.
It’s hard to find people like that.
Always keep them in your thoughts and the memory-there-of never really leaves you.
Pull up the old doc and flip through the journal.
You may surprised just how long you left yourself
Simmering on the back-burner in theory.
Turbulence led to vacay decay and giving up
To take the risk of career switch
Just felt like the natural thing to do.
petrichor - archive 