She sneezed literal achoos,
three short bursts,
tone rising on the second syllable,
musical onomatopoeia.
Her canary yellow shirt,
hoop earrings with chakra rainbow beads,
a laptop with kissing Stitches
create poetic perfection –
a rainbow reflected in the spilled foam of a latte
on a rainy Sunday morning
when my heart has just been broken.
I wish I could tell her I love her
without weighing her with guilt of the
verbal volley gone unreturned.
Brianna, like most of her peers in middle-age, is still trying to figure it out. While it does get better, it never seems to get simple. There will be a mix of spirituality exploration, health struggles, and among all the randomness, also determining what she wants to do with her one and precious life (still and forever).
You can sign up here. I may or may not get around to actually sending pings as this page gets updated. The two things I can promise: you won’t get spam from me, and I won’t sell your information.
Internal Monologue 
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