Soft Spot

You should know that the soft spot we held onto for months and months has dried back up again. Starting in its edges, then moving down to its roots. I know because last I held it between my palms it didn’t fit nicely like it had before. I thought that maybe if I kept it in a cool dry place we’d be in luck. Perhaps something to last us until next spring. But I checked its pulse and held it close enough to every warm bit of my body and still there were no signs of life. I’m sorry to be the bearer of news like this because what else could I be. You can let me know how it makes you feel, sad neutral or otherwise. Maybe you’ll send me a letter in the mail the way I did you last fall. It’s always better when there’s something for us to hold onto. 

We’re painting on the deck because the light’s good and with the fan spinning the heat’s diluted, not too hot not too chill. There’s trace of California if you close your eyes and click your heels. I’m going to see how much of last summer I can leave behind onto this tiny canvas. Paint to paper I’ve never tried it this way but it feels like the right time to start something new. There’s a color being born between the red and blue hues I wonder if you’ll be able to see the difference today or never.

It feels good because I made it on my own even better that I have something to show for all of the time I’ve been spending in my head. Do you think there’s enough of these newfound deep purples to carry me on through the next bits of blank space? If I’m lucky I’ll be left alone long enough to see then sun set, to watch the paint dry.