|Edinburgh, U.K. | september 3, 2017|
I love the wrinkles on my hand, the dust in the glass, the grain painted behind the camera. I love Harley's rusted corner, aged but strong, sturdy, stubborn. It's a future description people will say of me: wrinkles that reach past my hands, stubborn in her views but still finds beauty, strong if not scarred from a well-lived and well-loved life.
A fear that I don't talk about often but which presents itself in my every day life is losing my ability to see. It may be the wind hitting me while I sit on this stranger's front porch, but I'm tearing up watching blades of grass dance. Singularly. Together. Spurts of movement in shade and sun. I'm weary of the day I pass by a rose without diving my nose in its petals. I lose sleep over losing appreciation for these small things.
I lost vision in my eye last year. It was an ocular migraine. I felt it coming, which was the worst part. With my back on the bed, I stared up at the white patched ceiling of that gross Crenshaw place. Dead of summer, ice cream truck going by. That truck doubled as a weed dispensary, kind of genius but it always reeked. My gaze, stuck on the remains of a spider, long dead, started to dim. Slowly, slightly, then all at once. A black curtain shut on my right eye and i panicked. I wanted to dig it out, for the pain. I wanted to cradle it in my hand, feed light back into it, warm it up with my breath, but I was paralyzed. Kenny came in, I heard him throw his apron on the homemade coffee table Alan made — tired, sweaty from work. And I can imagine this in my head, I've seen him do this a couple times, but lingering behind my pulsing eyeball was a trace of a thought that I may not see this again, at least not fully. Twenty minutes of slow anxiety sat in my chest before the curtains drew back. That spider moved, guess it wasn't dead. I rolled over to my stomach. I looked at my hands, that crooked finger, the loose thread on the cheap orange throw pillows I got at target the week before. Crawling out of bed, I went to join Kenny in the next room, a silent appreciation sitting underneath the surface.
The sun is setting, and this landscape in front of me is nearly all in the shadow of trees and shrubs. There's a scrap of litter trying to escape uneven blades. I'll pick it up when I get up to pee.