One Sugar (audio)

The moon is a wafer thin disc glowing straight through my window, splashing muted white light across my soft warm skin as I lay in bed awake long before dawn, contemplating heavens knows what. Along the windowpane little holiday lights twinkle their multicolored charm against the black backdrop of 3 a.m. sky.

I think of a performance artist I once knew so well we used to talk language and poetry together late into the night. Damn could he write a thing, too, it was incredible – and in no time flat. It was amazing to me because I always write alone, I’m not the type to get down with a collaboration. But something about the way he would riff on love and desire with grit and a roughness that would turn, unexpectedly, to tenderness made my wandering soul for once stand still and take note. I would have been jealous if he weren’t so sweet.

But time moves on and so did we and it’s been years since we have said but a few words or liked each other’s posts on Instagram. For all its teeming with faces and bodies and words, social media has a strange way of making you forget that it’s flesh and blood people behind the digital masks they wear and that sometimes we fall for the mask because quite frankly we prefer it to the real thing. We prefer to be a mask, too, if we’re being honest. Mostly, lately, I don’t post anything at all. I can’t decide if those who do know more about who they are, or less, than I know about who I am. Then again thoughts like this before the day has even begun serve only to agitate and never to solve anything at all.

As the sunlight begins to seep into the edges of the pitch dark of morning, I can just make out the tops of the tall pine trees standing shaggy and majestic off in the distant blue hills. I would take an actual landscape over a digital one any day but I guess that’s just me. The last day of autumn and the sky grows colder and colder still. The moon remains a distant disc glowing straight through my window but her light is fading fast as I place my naked feet to the frigid hardwood, pull on a hoodie and fill my favorite old mug with coffee, one sugar, no cream.

22 Replies to “One Sugar (audio)”

  1. Well, that was sooooo timely. Been checking the clock every hour waiting for it to be time to wake up. (I love days off.) I felt a twinge of unexpected sadness though and an escaped tear from the ancient well. I played your voice and listened to your words. It “made my wandering soul for once stand still and take note.” Comforted too. ❤️ Thank you. You have no idea the personal impact.

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Hello dearest Laura, I am beyond grateful to you for listening, thank you for the precious gift of your presence. I am even more ecstatic to know this moved you even to a tear. Something inside of this must have been meant just especially for you. 🕊❤️🕊

      Liked by 2 people

              1. I am not seeing it, but here is the path: Appearance > Customize > (Leave site? Yes) Widgets > (Choose location, i.e. side bar) Plus/add sign > Archive > Find it in your preview > Leave as is and Save Changes or > Edit/pencil icon > Three dots > Show more settings > Select display as dropdown and show post counts and Save Changes 🙂 Hope this helps. Happy to help more! ❤

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