“As each descending peak on the LCD took you a little farther away from me away from me”

– Death Cab for Cutie


I’m far away from those little things like seagull feathers, Petoskey stones and the roar of East Bay on a windy day that keep me grounded.  I have only the pulse of the train to remind me of the waves; the rhythm of earth, man-made.  Not even my old Underwood is here to console me where I might let myself get lost in spaces between hard-sprung keys.  It never had an exclamation point and I feel each thought coursing through my brain deserves at least one, so maybe it doesn’t matter anyhow.  I walk the dog and yell at my children to keep up or wait up or shut up because I’m always on my last nerve and that damn rottweiler-mix someone snuck into the building lunges at the window every time.  And yet the sun still shines and the train is always on time and I haven’t any reason, but boredom, for complaints.  How I crave the sensation of being sucked beneath the sand as each wave pulls me under layer by layer. 
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