Dear six,


Dance, until all air has escaped your lungs.

Sing, until meaning mean nothing to words.


Laugh, until the roof echoes of the prior moment.

Tumble, until the room has been removed of all dust.


Eat, until corn bursts at the sight of fire.

Chew, until ice melts at the sight of spoon.


Style, until no hair is dry.

Play, until no head is willing to play anymore.


Next time, that room will be a stranger.


A Toast

I once toasted to creating regrets. To know that those infinite possibilities of living are available, but in that moment only one can be lived. To know that we don’t miss places or people, we miss moments. That perfect confection of our self in the moment, the people who strolled through, and the place we happened upon. That will never be repeated.

A toast to regrets. Moments of melancholy. The drifting grin of nostalgia.