#epeolate

[epeolate]

on being ordinary

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to be exceptional. You do not need to build Rome, or burn it, or fiddle as it burns, or fiddle at all. You need not wage war or wager peace.

You need only sit with me, here. The stars are resting on rooftops and trees. They are as ordinary as ourselves. People constructed legends about them, but they are simple and straightforward. They will disappear come morning, and we will stay here. 

Some lights we see are only remnants of their former selves, burning for a final time. If even they can be ephemeral, then surely so can we.

You need not be great. Just sit here. Let the early morning hold you as it erases all the stars. 

[epeolate]

“don’t trust boys who bring dead roses, already in bouquets,” my mother said. “wait for the ones who bring you living plants. wait for the ones who will nourish a garden with you.” 

[epeolate]

On destiny

There are some moments / That yearn for their own futures. 

Surely this is why time can sometimes slide faster. 

Every prelude has a magnet / Attracted to foregone disaster. 

-- epeolate 

[epeolate]

we take shelter in the moment between question                                    and answer. we slip into the moment's hunger and we savor it like wine.

epeolate

[epeolate]

Finches dream of their own songs. I’d like to join them in their slumber:

forego all human dreams and listen to each five-note number. 

[epeolate]

[epeolate]

i remember every kind of rain.