an almost sadness

This is a journal entry. It is a quiet storybook, with a picture of a tree all dressed up in blues. there would be pictures of feet—cold —the kind of feet you can't match to a face, or maybe you would think that person was incredibly sad, by how cold their feet were. I think coldness is sometimes sadness. I think cold feet on cold floorboards are pretty, but cold, and sad, and blue. So it is just you sitting quietly, and you look outside, at a tree all dressed up in blues.

But it is important to remember that a blue day, a world of blues, still has its colours. There is also a crumpled picture: two neighbourhood ducks. I think they came down in a storm one day, and have remained since. I looked out the window, just past a tree all dressed up in blues, and there they are, together, such small things, out of place, and jarring in their togetherly smiles. I see two ducks against a metal fence, wire, sky come crashing to the ground. But they just stay together, finding life where they fell. they are so happy. They make me so happy.

Don't worry, I see you, too. I see you most.

I have ordered two new books, The Lover's Dictionary, and Naïve. Super. I always need things that take my whole attention, so I don't need to stay anywhere in between.

I could not write any more, without fear of safety, and how your eyes are always heaviest.