The exception to the rule (April 11, 2016)

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It may be I am one of the tribe keeping the post office alive
with handwritten cards for the every day
and “thank you” notes to the supermarket cashier and
hotel porter.
But I’m not counting the others;
they’re hiding behind ballpoint pens and forever stamps
in kitchen pantries stocked with organic brown rice and lentil beans.

I can’t see them and/ but I do see you.

I’ve never liked secrets.
There is no shame in being human.
I stay up late night and watch movie trailers
so I can taste everything and commit to nothing,
believing all of it is a new beginning,
one snippet after the other.
In that space when the spheres of the universe open up,

I want to create and be created.

There is no harm in the fantasy of the other.
Nobody will get hurt in the making of my mind.

I am well aware that you may see beauty splashed across a billboard
and soon thereafter dash off to the mall to buy sneakers.
I’ve been there, and it’s one way but
not mine anymore.
I am sorry your pain is that real.

Meet me at the corner of then and now,
and I will show you what freedom is.
You can trust me;

I will hear the words you will never say

between the lines we feel compelled to draw.
I noticed that love was written across the mirror in your bathroom,
and I devoured that reflection
of who we are becoming,
even when our typos overpower our ideas.
Because that’s when I feel most like
living is now.

Thank you.
I love you.
And truly, I do apologize.

Let’s keep it clean because things are messy enough.

I can barely separate the plastic from the paper.
There is no stain remover for the flaws my heart carries
when nobody else is looking.

You walked in the door with the sharply colored flowers.
The bouquet is rooted in water in a glass vase.
Stability can be a contradiction.

I’ll make the bed if you sing to me as I do it.
You do the dishes, and I will call the accountant.
I don’t make promises I can’t keep.
Because I want to bank on something,
even when my stockings have a hole at the seam.

I didn’t return your phone call.
Please understand, I was too busy laughing.

Because inbox zero is not an accomplishment but rather

an obsession.
No matter what, even when the years become decades,
I will remember the scent of your car cushions
and that song on the radio that went a little something like,

“I have all the patience in the world for you.
Because every rule has an exception, and you’re mine.
This is neither a game nor a race to the grave.

That double negative breaks me.”

Meet me at the corner of then and now,
after the rain,
when I am covered in mud and my dollar bills are soggy.
I watch you playing in the puddles with the sun squeezing your cheeks,
and in that, I start over.

Some days
it’s only a Monday, and
playing in the puddles is all we’ve got.
That

and all the exceptions to the rules we make.

With humility,

Your Higher Self

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