Day of Rest

blankpagesI wrote so much for you today, more than I’ve been able to write in a long time. One guest post, another short piece about telling true stories, a Something Good post for tomorrow, and an outline for a submission about beginnings. And then all day after that, I kept coming back here to check in and see what you thought about what I wrote, forgetting I hadn’t published it, hadn’t posted it here. It’s like I’ve mailed a letter and you haven’t read it yet, and as I wait for a response, I miss you. I long for the days when we had so much time to spend together, talking about everything and nothing, feeling like we had all the time in the world.

Still, I am comforted knowing you are there. Like I told a dear friend today: We might be in a boat that is guaranteed to sink, but we are in it together, and I know that when I get too tired, I can put my head in your lap while you row, or we can lean into each other and simply drift for awhile.

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