"The stars look different here"

Sat Nov 30: They arrive today. i am hung over, and with only 4 hours of sleep. Have borrowed a friend's vacuum cleaner but halfway through i notice that it just seems to be pushing things around, so i put my hand on the bottom and feel zero suction. Despite my insistence that the vacuum doesn't work, she assures me that it does. i am in no mood to argue over the phone, so i keep pushing, thinking that perhaps it is only sucking while moving and therefore i have no way to tell, even though this goes against everything i have ever known about vacuums. However, i notice a new sound and see that is has finally begun to work at the very, very end. Oh, bitterness. A few hours pass, and i pack the last little things that i don't need immediately. Then suddenly the immensity of this project begins to weigh on me and i call nat, my ex and best friend, and ask him to come home from Thanksgiving with his family in L.A. to help me move. Figure he owes me that much, seeing as how we lived there together for six years and a lot of the mess and clutter i cleaned was his too. To his credit, he appreciates the panic in my crying voice and makes arrangements to head home by train within the hour. My mom and brother arrive, and my brother immediately launches into a tirade about the ridiculous enormity of the truck my sister rented. This goes on for hours. Negativity is visible in palpatating waves coming off of him. Eventually we ask my co-worker to drive us to a nearby U-Haul, making it there at the last second, to see if we can exchange the monster truck, but to no avail. Logistically, and cost-wise, it just isn't happening. Back at the apartment, we suddenly have an epic meltdown with screaming, crying, door slamming; intense intense intensity. i call Nat to let him know he should head home for the night instead of my place, as we might in fact change the truck and that there will be no moving/packing tonight. He is peeved, then understands. He knows how my family operates (read: it doesn't.) Finally my brother asks that i at least walk to the truck (which is illegally parked in a Staples parking lot) to see how bad it is; i agree on the stipulation that he does not speak (i am not proud of this but i had to survive it somehow). This somehow smooths everything out, probably because he realized how much nicer it was not be yelling and fighting every second of every hour. The truck is large, but not as bad as i thought. Later, when we move the truck to a legitimate parking space for the night we become some semblance of a family again. sleep happens.

Sun Dec 1: Nat was to be at our place at ten to start packing the truck, but he oversleeps, of course. After frantically trying his phone, laptop, and roommate's phone, he calls. i pay for his cab ride over. We load the truck, which goes fairly quickly. Then we drive a half hour to my aunt's storage space (full of her mother's things that we moved out when i moved in), where we have to pay to get the lock cut since no one can recall ever having a key. We get all of that stuff into the truck, then drive back and bring it all back upstairs. i have one last look around with Nat, which is sad. We say goodbye (even sadder), then head out to the freeway on a san diego sunset. My mom drives the behemoth (whom we have named Bertha– Bertha Penske) until 3 in the morning. We roll into Berkeley in pea soup fog, spooky as all get out. My brother's friend, where he would be sleeping, is not getting back to him. My friend is asleep and has work in the morning. We all decide it will be easiest to stay at my mom's friend's house, on the floor if need be. Mom parks the truck on the wrong street and we walk back and forth for 20 minutes in the fog before she realizes. Finally we get in. Her friend, Beth, is awesome, and welcoming, even at almost four in the morning. Thank heavens. She has 2 dogs (Speck and Gringo) and a lovely black cat, Nena, who sleeps with my mom and i.

Mon Dec 2: We have to move the truck for street sweeping (of course). There is no parking. Anywhere! Then i remember that we are right near the storage place where we have to pick up my sister's stuff anyway, so we head there and magically find a spot right nearby. We go inside to get the skinny, which is: we need a locksmith. They can't open it for us eveb if my sister calls and okays it. Par for the course at this point. So we head back to beth's and arrange to meet the locksmith back there in an hour. She takes me to get 2 day laborers to help. We meet mom and willie at storage, wait for the locksmith to finish (our $40 estimate having jumped to $100, inexplicably), then i open the unit and have a small meltdown myself. This family really needs to work on letting things go. i frantically load up a dolly then realize that i need to just hang back and let the two guys rock it out, get into their groove. Which they do, and it is done in about 2 and a half hours. Beth and i drive them back to where we picked them up, then head back to her house. It is evening. Mom drives willie to a different friend's house (also, he has decided he will be staying in the bay and not be helping us with the rest of the trip; it is almost the best possible decision), then takes me to downtown oakland where i bus the rest of the way to my friend's for the evening. i cry almost immediately upon arriving. She gives me beer, and we have french toast and potatoes for dinner. She decides that i am to be the godparent to her cat, Junebug, who hides from every other human in existence. Finally, we sleep.

Tues Dec 3: A quick breakfast at Addie's and she gives me a bunch of warm clothes and snacks for the journey, all of which end up being lifesavers in more ways than one. i bus and BART back to where willie is, then Beth comes to pick us up (he has decided to come along, after all. not sure if i'm worried or relieved.). We get my mom, then all go to a favorite local cafe where willie has the best capuccino of his life; think we all needed some semblance of normalcy before heading out. We say thank you and goodbye to Beth at the truck, then motor out of town. Stop an hour away, in Richmond, so my mom can say hi to an old friend who is down and out. There is a grey pitbull named Bombay there; she is very sweet and has pretty eyes with black eyeliner but is a little bit too jumpy for us. He gives them a bag of weed and then picks us 2 lemons from his tree, which we place on the dash of the truck where they will remain for the duration of the driving. We head out again, and about an hour north we see "OCCUPY MY ASS" mowed into a hillside. Then drive, and drive, and drive.... we stop in Klamath Falls, Oregon at a motel. It is freezing. Since there was no room in the cab for our luggage, i go to unlock the back of the truck so we can brush our teeth and whatnot. But! The lock. Won't open. People speculate that is is frozen. i hold my lighter to it, but nothin' doin'. We borrow a mallet from maintenance and try whacking it open, but no dice. Frustrated and tired, we sleep. The great unwashed.

Wed Dec 4: Meet a couple of nice Canadians at breakfast who are traveling to Arizona for the winter. They sympathize about the lock. i make a waffle, which is surprisingly tasty. We drive to local locksmith at 9:00; mom breaks a couple of tree branches while trying to park Bertha, and a toothless someone pops his head over the fence in amusement. He asks us if we are from 'the pumpkin patch'. Turns out it was a homeless shelter and we'd woken them up with all of the noise (did i mention the truck is LOUD?) The locksmith pretends not to have already spoken with us that morning, then offers us a Ricola. i realize he is joking, but his peculiar brand of humor is lost on us. They end up drilling out the lock at no charge, and we buy a better one and head on our way. We drive, and drive, and drive... stop in Biggs Junction, Oregon on almost empty for food and fuel. Willie is mistaken for a Canadian cousin named Steve (or Gus?) by the nice kid pumping our diesel (with all of the weight, our truck now guzzles almost $100 each time we add even half a tank.). We eat at Linda's Restaurant/truck stop, where our waitress obviously hates her job and walks around endlessly with two coffeepots, dishing gossip with the sheriff and deputy seated a few tables down. We head east along the Columbia River. Wanted to make it all the way but stop in Spokane, Washington, about 7 hours out. My mom is tired. Driving that truck is no mean feat, especially in cold/icy conditions and with two worried passengers. But we agree that we are all more concerned with making it in one piece, rather than ahead of schedule. The lock opens this time, thank goodness, and we head up to the hotel. It is even colder now. The young woman at the front desk is from Whitefish! i take this as a good sign. We watch some TV then fall asleep.

Thursday, Dec 5: Mom and i plan our route. We want to get an early start in case there are problems on the two mountain passes. The day starts off rocky, as we have to stop for fuel before heading out and can't find a good exit... My brother gets really bitchy and suggests we just stop for gas in town instead of on the outskirts to avoid long lines. He won't let it go, so we get off at a random exit and not only do we find zero gas stations, we promptly get lost. i am not a fan of Spokane. At one point we come perilously close to driving under a bridge which did not have enough clearance for our 12' 7" truck; Willie notices this at the last minute and we have to reverse out, which is stressful to say the least. Now we really truly cannot find our way back to the interstate, and my mom begins to cry because this is exactly what she did not want to have happen. She needs to just get there, and rest, but we haven't even begun our last day's drive yet and are losing time. My brother continues being an ass. She pulls over to ask for directions. i try the fire station, but find no way to get in; head over to the banking complex across the street and wait to ask someone for help. i begin crying as well. We are all trying to keep it together at this point. Finally, two nice ladies help me out. We head back to the highway and somehow or another things smooth out. We hit the first pass (into Idaho), and although cold and with a few strips of black ice, it is a virtual cakewalk. My mom breathes a sigh of relief; i try to find a nice way of reminding her that we have a second, much higher pass coming up, into Montana. But miraculously, the weather holds and we have clear skies and even a bit of sunshine that has melted a lot of the ice. We make it over with no problems. Instead of taking our suggested route, peppered with smaller highways to save about a half an hour, we drive farther south, almost to Missoula, before hitting the 93 north into Whitefish. i think we are all getting excited, despite our mental and physical exhaustion, to be so close. We are fine until we hit the (Flathead) Lake; road and weather conditions always, always worsen around it. But once we pass it, we are in the clear. However the problem of where to park the truck pops up once we hit town. There is no way to park the thing in our driveway at the house. So we park it in the lot for the Grouse Mountain Lodge, about a half mile from the house, around 7 pm, and hope that they don't tow it. We grab our stuff from the back, and walk along the highway in pitch blackness and at 8 below. Possibly one of the stupidest things i have ever done. 3/4 of the way there, i get my first asthma attack in a decade. The cold is seriously brutal, even with our brisk walking and carrying luggage. Nothing seems to warm one up. We get to the house, and although warm, it is definitely something of a mess. We say hi to dad, downstairs, then mom and i head up to check out the sleeping arrangements and food. The kitchen is a total disaster. Every. Single. Dish. And piece of silverware, and pot and pan, is dirty. And not just dirty, but disgusting. The sink is piled high, the stove is covered in grease. There are 8 disgusting cast iron pans. We decide to order pizza. My mom starts on the dishes, but the sink won't drain. So we try vinegar and baking soda. Nothin' doin'. Finally, we literally plunge the thing. She makes some headway. i get the pizza upstairs, and make a plate for my dad. Mom and brother eat. Just as i open the box, ravenously, to get my first slice and sit down and relax for the first time all day, the power goes out. You just can't make this stuff up. Luckily i had seen some old birthday cake candles in a drawer while looking for matches to light the stove earlier. i baby them as i walk around the house to find more candles. Thankfully, my sister is something of a hoarder and i find a huge stash in her bedroom. So i place them carefully and strategically around the house. We begin to wonder if it will come back on tonight. So i gather as many blankets as i can and place them on the beds, not sure if we will have the furnace working. Meanwhile my mom and brother have begun arguing again. Willie is upset that this trip is not running smoothly. Everything is about him, once again. i sit to eat pizza but i can't relax because he is moody and negative and i don't feel like talking. We can't get online to check anything about the power outage or weather because we don't have the internet password and my sister's on-again-off-again boyfriend Colt is at work until morning. After about 2 hours, the power comes back on, hallelujah. Unfortunately this does nothing to improve my brother's mood and by now he is as black as it gets. He keeps stating that we did not come up here to do Colt's dishes. i want to wring his fucking neck. i can hear my mom trying to talk to him but there is nothing anyone can do or say to him when he gets like this, something he has yet to understand. i actually go and hide the key to the storage room because i know there are guns in there. Finally she is yelling and retreats to the bedroom to sleep. i go in, too, and ask her if i should try to talk to him. She says it might help but has no idea, that he is troubled. She is in tears. i go in to his room, where he is playing guitar, and am met with a verbal assault and black shark eyes full of hatred. i retreat. But then i go back in because i am worried about him and some of the language he used ("don't worry, i'll be gone soon"). We talk for about 15 minutes, but there is no headway to be made. He is vicious and sarcastic, and by the time he calls me a liar for the umpteenth time, i lose it. Tell him i love him and that i'll see him in the morning. i have trouble sleeping all night because i am scared that i won't, in fact, see him in the morning.

Friday Dec 6: Today is the day we were supposed to have had the truck returned (to Coeur D'Alene, Idaho, apparently the closest possible drop-off) but my sister has had the rental extended through Monday. We have coffee, and say good morning to Colt. My mom begins to lay into him about the state of the house, and that we didn't deserve to walk into that. i absolutely agree, but as i had already communicated to her, this is a man who is overwhelmed and depressed and who has been taking care of our father for the past two years and absolutely does not need to hear someone dumping on him right away. But, no. i suppose she needed to get it off her chest. He drives us to the truck down the road, and the plan was for us to follow him to the storage place to unload Hilary's stuff and most of mine, then drive it back to the house and unload the rest. However, after ten minutes of trying, the truck refuses to start. It is just way, way too cold. (In fact, apparently unusually cold, and it has settled into the valley in a way that no one can remember happening any time recently.) Colt goes to the gas station to buy a bottle of ether to try and help start the engine. We try that a few times but it is clear that this is a losing battle. We drive back to the house to call Penske. They can get it towed to a warm garage in a nearby town, where it will be put on a bolt (block?) heater and maintenanced so we can pick it up in the morning. The day is lost. Colt seems about to cry, so i ask him if he wants to take a drive with me. We go to Safeway for some groceries, and talk a lot. i tell him to let everything roll off of him for now, and that things will get better. That i am here to help, and that we are all just emotionally and physically drained right now, but it will pass. We head back to the house and everyone eats. The tow driver comes to the house and i give him the keys, then my brother runs out and reminds us that if the guy tows the truck from the front, all of our haphazardly-packed furniture and various other items will go crashing to the back of the truck, as it was always way bigger than we needed it to be so there was a lot of empty room at the back. He says he may be able to hitch it from the back, avoiding the issue, but if not then we should ride with him and bring some rope just in case. So my mom and i hop in the huge, heavy-duty tow truck, me sitting in the sleeper area. A minute later i realize i've forgotten the rope. OH WELL. We get there and he thinks he can hitch it from the back, but we take a look inside anyway and he is unhappy with our packing job (not insulted in the least are we) and helps me adjust things accordingly for the tow. Seriously one of the nicest guys. It takes all of my weight to close the door to the back of the truck, and he jokingly tells me to eat a sandwich. He grabs his gloves ans face mask (it is COLD, did i mention?) and lets my mom and i wait in the warmth of his cab while he does the work, about twenty minutes. Relieved, i tip him ten bucks and a piece of peanut butter fudge that i had in my bag and surprise him with a hug. My mom and i walk over to the Grouse for a hot drink while waiting for Colt to pick us up, which he does about a half hour later. We are pooped. My brother chops some wood and talks to my dad downstairs for the better part of the evening. The TV has been cut off because apparently my dad forgot to pay the bill. My mom makes some more headway on the kitchen. My brother eventually apologizes for his behavior the night before, and i thank him for remembering about the towing having an effect on our stuff. Pizza and salad leftovers for dinner. Thankfully Colt has the next couple of days off to help. i have been wearing the same clothes for almost a week now and feel more disgusting than ever. So i throw some stuff in the washer, where... nothing happens. We suddenly realize that the pipes are frozen. There is a panic in the house because if the pipes burst then we are really up shit creek. i talk to my sister and dad, and we all agree to turn on every faucet just a bit, to drip, and keep the water in motion. There are close calls with a couple of them, mainly the (only) bathtub, downstairs, and the sink in the garage, which is where the washer gets its water. But they finally begin to work again, and after letting them run a bit, my dad gives me the ok to start the machine again. So i do. But it still doesn't work. Resigned, i open it up to get back out my filthy clothes so that i have something to sleep in (am wearing random clothes i found in my sister's room), but they are wet. WET! So i have to take the whole load upstairs and hand-wash it in the sink. This takes the piss right out of me, and any last vestige i had of civility or positivity is completely and utterly gone. i am spent. After an hour, i wring them out as best i can with the last of my strength and throw them, soaking wet, into the dryer. (Which, thank god, works!) i wait an hour for the cycle to be done. They are still wet, so i add an hour and hit the hay, hoping for the best.

Saturday, Dec 7: Up and ready to get this move done. Now that the house is cleanish and there is food, things are starting to feel a bit more normal. We all drive to Kalispell to get the truck. The guys at the garage are not very pleasant. i am angry with them for the way they are talking to my mom. We have to wait a bit for them to change the oil (the filter had just arrived minutes before), so we all go out for a small breakfast. My mom smartly calls ahead to the storage place to confirm our unit, where she is told that since my sister didn't actually reserve it, it got rented yesterday. One more monkeywrench, but i am not fazed– i'd compiled a whole list of storage places 2 days before when i thought we didn't have a spot yet. It is in the truck and i remind everyone of this. We get back to the garage and see Bertha waiting outside for us. Colt and Willie get in to warm her up while my mom and i call storage places. i finally find one in the size we need, for $60 a month instead of $40, but oh fucking well. Not much bargaining to be done at this point. Colt leads the way and we follow. The woman running the place is an absolute sweetheart, and they live in the rear of the office with a tiny, fat pomeranian named Zero. i fill out paperwork and we get started, the two boys and i. We are a good team and unload almost everything in about an hour and half. i can't feel my fingers and willie's snot and sweat are forming ice in his mustache. But we are all in good spirits, miraculously! i go back in to the office to finalize everything with Evigene, where she fills the hands of my brother and i with candy, despite our protests. We drive the rest of my stuff (just some boxes) back to the house and unload it, mostly into the garage. Truck is empty. And it feels SO good. We all grab a bite to eat, then come back to the issue of getting it started to return in the morning. Luckily Colt can make the trip; my mom is so over driving that thing it is not even funny. But we realize that maybe we should just drive it back tonight then rent a car and return right away, getting home late (or early, depending on how you look at it). It is about 3 PM. My mom makes some calls to see if we can get a rental car in Coeur D'Alene, but they all close at 4 and are not open the next day, as it is a Sunday. (We are in God's country now, after all.) So there goes our plan to return it tonight and drive right back, as well as our plan to return it, stay in a motel, and rent a car in the morning. We are not sure what to do. So we decide to try and change the return location to Spokane, about an hour and a half past Coeur D'Alene. But there are no cars available there, either. After over an hour on the phone trying to finagle everything into place, we are beginning to reach nuclear levels of irritation. Colt is adamant that we return the thing tonight, so that if it doesn't start in the morning it is someone else's problem, not ours. Then i suddenly realize that there is an Amtrak stop in Spokane, so we make reservations for two one-way tickets back to Whitefish, which would get us back home at about 7:30 in the morning. We just have to make it to Spokane by midnight or 12:30 (the train departs there at 1:30). This means we have to get going; by now it is well past 5. My brother had initally offered to go with Colt, but as is almost always the case, weaseled his way out of it when he realized that it might actually happen. So i offer to go. Colt and i head out, and drive... and drive..... the weather holds, still, and the passes are even easier than before, albeit in the dark. We show Coeur D'Alene our middle fingers as we drive through, then continue on to Spokane. Find the drop-off place, and clean the truck out while we wait for our cab to the train station. i toss the two lemons out the window. (Am convinced they were lucky charms.) The cab driver misunderstood me on the phone and is waiting at a completely different Penske location. i just want to cry. It is so cold, and i am so tired and running on fumes at this point. But then he points out that we are just 4 blocks from the train station. So we hoof it there, arriving at about 12:30, so excited to get on the train and sleep. But we are informed that our train is FIVE HOURS LATE. And that this is an optimistic estimate. So, what can you do? We sit there, and drink coffee from Colt's gigantic thermos, and shoot the breeze. For hours. And hours. The people at the train station are depressing. But the Amtrak lady (Cassandra) is so sweet, and patient. i show Colt how to fold an origami shirt out of the funny pages from the newspaper. We move on to drinking Rockstars, which really work but are thoroughly disgusting. Our bodies want to shut down but we cannot let them, not yet. i go upstairs to play pinball and have a wonderful run, then as i am walking by the rest of the arcade games i startle someone who is crouched behind Big Buck Hunter, smoking drugs of one sort or another.... his eyes are wild. i apologize, then quickly and quietly make my way back downstairs where there are more people. Finally, just when we start to feel that something has gotta give, we board– at something past 7 a.m. We sleep right away. Mine is fitful.

Sunday Dec 8: We arrive back in Whitefish around noon. Colt is in a bad mood upon waking and gets in a fight with Hilary on the phone at the train station while we wait for our ride. They are having relationship issues. i just wish he wouldn't do it in public. Everyone can hear everything, and i am uncomfortable. My mom and bro show up to pick us up, then we head back home. i find out that their flight leaves that night at 9, so instead of catching more Zs i stay awake while Colt naps for a bit. We sit around the house while they finish packing, then Colt takes my mom and i into town for a teensy bit of christmas shopping. We head home, and Willie and i give the dogs a bath with special shampoo to get rid of their mange (they have been scratching incessantly since the moment we arrived). It stinks of sulfur and the dogs are wary of us for hours afterward. (three days later and i can still smell it on my hands after i pet them.) Finally we go downstairs to take some family photos with dad, then drive my mom and bro to the airport. It is hard to say goodbye, after everything. i had slipped a lucky penny into my mom's bag because i am scared of airplanes. When we get into the car afterward, i ask Colt to take me to the Blue Moon, a bar i've driven by many a time while here on vacation. i figured i could buy him a drink (and indulge in one myself) for a job finally, well– done. There is a huge taxidermied polar bear fighting a brown bear inside. A big dance floor, and a new poker table. He has a whiskey sour, i a vodka tonic. The bartender, Charlene, tells us her whole recent life story then wonders aloud why she is doing so (i have that effect on people often). She is sweet. Recently divorced–amicably, and just started seeing someone; has three kids all doing well in college. Then a drunken local named Theresa comes over and claims to 'know' me. She carries on a ridiculous, slurred conversation with mostly just herself as we look on, bemused and not sure how to react. Eventually she grabs my hand because she notices my red, cracked knuckles. She will not have this and drags me over to her purse so i can try her lotion ("bitch, you will use this!"). She tries to give me the whole bottle but i refuse, as nicely as possible, mostly because i don't like the smell. As we head down a backroad towards the house where i now reside, Colt laughs. Well, you sure did meet some locals tonight.

Yep. i suuuure did.

circling all 'round the sun

i have been so positive this past year. So, so full of benevolence and hope. But now it feels that something has shifted, sickeningly; i am lurching through lurid scenes that everyone else experiences as what they are– the norm. Now, suddenly, i am vibrating at a tremendous, unsettled frequency, keening a bit higher each day until certainly, a plateau will be reached, and beyond that– a cliff. The drop will not be freeing. i will hit rocks the whole way down and be mangled on repeat, and i don't know how far it will go. The only way to know is to fall.

When i started this blog a million years ago the name was a phrase that i found floating along in my head from time to time. i was in love, and i lived with that love, and we shared everything and put it on display so that every second in this apartment was like a celebration of happiness and fulfillment. Now, in one week's time, i am leaving this place, this space. That love, having been gone almost two years now, still shone at me from each corner of each room. But it was okay. It was mine to remember.

Now, it does not feel okay. Today i began a dismantlement process that i literally had to turn away from at times... Closing my eyes as a rolled up a poster. Looking, sighing, to the ceiling as i threw some memento or another into the kitchen trash with all of the other garbage. i feel as though i can never quite breathe deeply enough.

They say change is good. Hell, i've been saying it, for months now. But when you are so familiar with a landscape that is almost literally becomes your own personal universe, where do you go when you have to leave? What else is there?

First, i was talking to my floss.

Aaaaaand then this afternoon i find myself editing the "peanut" article on Wikipedia. What is happening to me?! Have i already become a crazy old lady, lonesome and desperate and reaching for any tiny connection to this (legume-filled, among other attributes) world?

i didn't even actually edit it– i posted my qualms under the "talk" section. shows how much of a go-getter i am. i mean, if you're gonna be crazy, you may as well go nuts*, am i right? (like the time my boyfriend and i were up too late on the internet and edited a different Wikipedia article's sentence to include the word "sharted". It was removed less than 48 hours later. Sadface.)

With any luck, this can all be ascribed to the simple fact that i am not feeling well. More than just a bit run down these past few days. Pretending to not have a cold! Is fun! Yet wearisome!

Now, to pour boiling water over some shredded ginger and drink it down intently as if it were a magic potion.
Works every time.



*soooo sorry.

Deeeeeeep thoughts...

tiredness and/or loneliness is perfectly summed up when your floss rips to shreds as you are tearing it off and you say to it, "you know what? you're a flaming asshole." and then laugh about the whole thing.

Eventually, we agreed on nothing

Another random poem brought to you by a hangover! My brain works haltingly on these days, which lends itself somehow to word jumbling. They tumble around in my head like socks in a dryer... these are the ones left behind.

__

We wear our nostalgia like a perfume
forever in search of one lingering moment
(or another)

a lullaby that we glimpse in our mind
always teasing, too quick to be caught–
we never know when it will return.

but it does

it always does,
wearing thin our hearts
in that same aching place

the membrane morphs and thins

things will never be different
(or the same)

in this tapestry of memory
we wait, endlessly weaving