because a Reverend can't be wrong.
There are places we go, deep in the woods, in a song, in our minds.
The movement of arms and the pulling of shirt halts the dream.
Reality snaps back in place: A soft smile under dark glasses.
A closed fist and a deep breath bring peace again. Temporarily.
Count to 10. Suddenly it almost didn’t happen.
Almost.
I am surrounded by clatter and commotion.
The clang-crash of pots and pans
falling from the cupboard to the floor
as I look further back.
Despite the noise, I am seeking.
The click-scrape of plastic parts
forgotten far in the back,
each corner forcing a new worry.
Despite the noise, I write while driving
because it feels good to feel.
I will teach nine years of love
followed by nine years of cunning.
And she will not be ill-equipped
As I am.
A faked smile from the girl
that makes my coffee.
I will surround myself in this.
I will absorb these beautiful things.
I will hold them close and forever
as paper sucks up ink into its fibers.
Even if they are make believe.