Some days, I stand in my kitchen balling my eyes out because the garbage can I just cleaned and sanitized to white perfection has tomato sauce all over the lid.
Some days, my To Do list is so long I want to jab my pen in my head and scramble my brain to mush.
Some days, I lie in bed at night marking, by coughs and groans, the slow death of two men.
Some days, I wonder if I no longer do anything will anyone love me.
Some days, I wonder if I can ever do enough to be loved.
Some days, I forget how to breath.
Some days, the air moves like a dance, twinkling lights draw me into vast galaxies, cinnamon, cloves, rosemary and lemons awaken my dna, a mournful, lyrical chord tightens my chest and my mouth yearns for a kiss.
Some days, I can’t even.
Some days, it’s all too much.