I'm imagining myself understanding the poetry of yellow casitas. The undone tumble of pink flowers. Doors that slide the world shut. Wood that knows how to dance and sleep. Grass that remembers the explorations of transients. Lemon tea. Giant jackstones. Card games and candles on a summer night.
I try not to be too envious of the me two weeks ago. I have my books and a cup of warm milk tea within reach. My bed is warm. I'll be fine.