"The sound of my heart,
it startled me."

The songs I've spent the past few months listening to, usually on repeat, usually in between sobs and gasps, no longer apply to me. They are still great songs, but they fail to trigger that feeling I seem to have abandoned. I'm no stronger than I was before and I'm certainly in no better shape, but there is something magical about having to search for a more suitable soundtrack to new and unfamiliar feelings.

I have an outstanding fear that I'm not going to make it. That my work will trail off into the sea of my past. I can't let it happen. Not now, anyway. It hit me yesterday. The sun was going down on the city of Pontiac. A cotton candy colored sky to my right, an empty stage to my left. I was wearing a black vintage Christian Dior shift, grass tickling my ankles, my friends playing in the patches of dusk, the sounds of shutter clicks and ambulances swirling around. It hit me. This is tangible if I allow it to be tangible. I can make this happen if I want it to happen. The only question I face now is, why?

As much as I say I cannot stand children, nor do I want children of my own, I always am surprised to see the uninhibited nature and unbridled honesty of children and how refreshing it is to hear such free thought. I can't help but smile and wish that all the children of the world understand that there's no hurry to grow up. Everything they know and everything they don't know is completely beautiful. I actually tend to tell children I encounter to not grow up, to stay as they are. They usually tilt their head and ask why. But during yesterdays encounter, I bent down to tell the sparkly, wide-eyed seven year old to never grow up, she threw her arms up like two, stringy question marks and said, "But I have to grow up. My birthday is in October!" I told her that my birthday was in October, too. It was then that I came to the obvious, yet insightful conclusion that yes, my body and mind must mature with the natural progression of age, but I never have to forfeit the sweet, unassuming naivete of my inner child.

I had a brief moment of weakness, which is not uncommon, let me assure you. I knew what I was doing when I made the choice to look. And when I did, the sparks reignited. So, I wrote it down again and set it on fire again. I awoke to nothing. Nothing had changed. It just didn't work. Maybe I don't need it to work, because it never will anyway.

I need to purchase a calender or a planner. I have dates and times and locations and lists, all creating clutter and mess in my head. I've asked my inner child to clean up a bit, but she's stubborn and defiant. So, I'll have to do it myself. But it can wait until after I've run through my neighbors sprinklers, barefoot and giggling.