Seed Book

you’ve got nothing to say. but you want to say something anyway. so you write about the moment when the sunlight hit your arms as you were hanging clothes on the clothesline. you write about all the beer and jameson whiskey you drank, his arm around your shoulders, the way you walked in that skirt because you knew he was watching. the paint on your toes. the pillow under your head. the blankets. the fan. the coffee with milk and cinnamon. his head on your chest. the yarn. the needles. paint.glitter. this unending desire. to make something. out of nothing.