Sunday to Sunday.

Rachel's famous word spills #4: orange light on the horizon, bare feet, coffee stains, constant good tunes, welcome scratches, lazy glory, the smell of musk, caffeine and crashing, droned voices, a borrowed flannel, chasing the moon, specks of sand everywhere, the sun gradually tucking itself in, gradient hues coming to play, a midnight dance, another trance, three in a bed, a bite or two, a singular arch linear to the sand, the foamy shore overlapping our toes.

It's a cardinal period; summer is being put on hold. I know I'll survive. I'll just need to live in the meantime. I miss everyone and most of all, I miss getting lost in the moment. // A week can encompass so many familiar feelings and new beginnings, that I'm past the point of just wishing. What I've wanted for so long awaits me. It's here. It's clear as day. (The perception in my mind? Not so much.)

Whenever I'm whisked away I wish to withdraw, and wait till the desirable rolls round. I need to take care of myself. I need to be more selfless. // The last weekend was gorgeous, leaving me wanting even more. These days I'm drawn back to another world; a world where my priorities scramble for their own sake, where suddenly everything else matters. Where I either bury my thoughts or mull over them endlessly. // But here's a toast. I'm thankful, you have no idea. For every dose of negativity I brew myself, comes another crucial parade. Cheers to the golden people in my life, to the family and those not of blood, the understanding words and silent blessings, to the tearful resolution in our strife. The bittersweet, made better.