Happy Friday, writers! This week, I’ve been going through my journals trying to pick up some of the pieces of old writing. I have random, (surely) excellent lines scribbled all over some of its pages, and I wanted to pick one for today’s freewrite. There is such value in scribbling down the odd perfect line as it comes to you, even if you don’t have anything else to add to it at the moment. Sometimes these bits and pieces work together in a brand new project, and sometimes they need to be saved and saved and saved until you can use them.
This requires the kind of patience I don’t usually have a large amount of, but letting a line steep in your subconscious can be kind of perfect— when you finally use it, it will feel more intentional, and right, and polished. This work is as yet untitled, but the first line is one I wrote down a full year ago. I’m so glad I found it a home!
I woke up eulogizing my father.
Startled from sleep, tasting
tears on my tongue, the words
tearing open a part of my brain
and heart and gut.
I woke up breathing losses.
Division of body and soul, of
church and state, of heart and mind.
Mortality rattling my lungs, drying
my mouth, crusting my eyes.
I woke up feeling sick.
Sick of mind and heart full
of aching, feeling bruised, skin
prickling, starving for a fight,
a touch, a word from you.
I woke up with the birds.
Chirping gossip through the window,
arguing whose voice is more beautiful,
more important, more true. Sharing
neighbors’ news with me.
I woke up thinking of you.
Moving quietly from deep
breathing and rapid eye movement
to drowsiness, feeling
heavy in my limbs.
I woke up.
Lit & Love,