Monday, November 1, 2021

I can touch this day; my feet are firm on steady ground.

I hear a drumbeat, is it the marching enemies of tomorrow? Is it the advancing steps of remorse? Is it my heart, beating today?

I reach to grab tomorrow and it is just a shadow. My fingers slip through it.

Let me stand still on this ground, and listen to my heart.

(Letter #2,487)