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“Woke up this morning with
a terrific urge to lie in bed all day
and read. Fought against it for a minute.

Then looked out the window at the rain.
And gave over. Put myself entirely
in the keep of this rainy morning.

Would I live my life over again?
Make the same unforgivable mistakes?
Yes, given half a chance. Yes.

– Rain
― Raymond Carver

I wake up with the sound of rain. Unusual here, and welcome in my half-sleep state. I put on the same pair of soft pants I slipped off the night before and boil water for coffee. The dog waits eagerly for his food, which I stir methodically on the counter. 

I take turmeric, drop cbd oil onto my tongue, and pour oat milk into the mug.

We are not talking much today; yesterday’s argument over a few scattered resentments lingers.  I slept alone in the big bed. 

I bring coffee to his work desk out of habit. Maybe out of the weariness of holding onto stubborn silence. I’m tired.

An old lover once told me that I live like I have lived a long life. This stuck with me, and echoes when I least expect or welcome it. 

I have let others perceptions shape my identity, and looking back like the rings of a tree, I can see where an inner drive seemed to gain control, weathered a salty storm, or made a shift in perspective. These are painful , as is anything to look back on perhaps.

I live deeply, and it is important to me to do so. I notice the leaves tapping the window by the bed each day. I strive to choose words with care. I drive the streets that carry the mountain views. I cry often. I kiss the dog’s head with fullness. I make love with abandon, if I feel seen.

Maybe all of this is just to say that we are all children, unfinished and unsure but observant. It’s enough for now.

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