Jillian Prendergast. Writer.

There is a recurring idea of boundaries within and without me these weeks

Of knowing that saying yes and no will somehow have a heavier impact on the tomorrows than it had ever before

I listen to music notes and I write notes to no one

I pour coffees and smile beneath the strands of hair over my face

It is always okay, I am discovering boldly and late, to not smile back

It is okay to not always be okay

I write sentences then erase them and try again to explain myself

I feel that my passions are enveloping into pressure than purpose and it sits heavy on my frame in a way that frail ankle bones are not easy to perch upon

I am learning more about myself and understanding that I bloomed late in this world

It is spring here, and yesterday the rains fell and froze over the tiny beet sprouts in the backyard

and all I can feel is the dull hum of a quiet panic of never being in the right time of the seasons of my life