9.29.23

Writing to you, I knew that I was writing to myself. Speaking to you, I was trying to speak to myself. I got up and laughed in the mirror. I got up and took a walk in the pouring rain. Or I dreamt I did. Reaching for you, I was reaching for myself. Across this I saw how much farther I had to go still, on my own. With every step I understood that every day was the entrance. Freedom is not a proposition. Freedom is a claim to living. I just don't want to choose any other life now, except the one I have, the one right now.