3/4's from a 4/3

Influenced by a wild empath who shall remain named: Jenny Slate

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I'm walking. A slow walk, like those old couples. They say nothing at all, a unit merged by time, a bouquet bound with twine then petrified beyond separation. I bet they have to give themselves triple the time to get places. I'm walking and smiling, not a proud parent smile or a bashful virgin smile or a concert celebration smile. The corners of my mouth are taught but not tight. Like the ends of a hammock, curved up because it's a beautiful day for a bit of outside time. I'm walking and smiling and feeling, like my whole self is made of dark silk, purple and navy blue. A mummy gliding forward, the wind making fluttering dents in my loose bindings. Don't worry, the light inside is too warm to feel sad. I'm walking and smiling and feeling and observing. They probably think I'm always like this - isn't that interesting how we think what we see is what always is? I see life and I want to weave through it like that whistle-controlled killer dart in Guardians of the Galaxy.

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I'm waltzing in my mind. It's the only signature that feels right today. I'm spent, proud, and a bit hungry. It's a combination I don’t dislike, not at all. It might take some repetition, but I think once it's in my body, I will feel like the melted layer of wax in a lit candle. I'm waltzing in my mind and driving home slowly. I'm driving home from dance, 5 miles under the limit, hitting every red light thank goodness. I hope the drivers behind me are also having a silky afternoon, content coasting along this lazy river. I'm waltzing in my mind and driving home slowly and singing. Singing well, I think. "I talked to my mom about you, she thinks you sound wonderful. I talked to my mom about you, I tell her you are." I cry at that bit every time. I'm waltzing in my mind and driving home slowly and singing and not thinking. My mind is no more than songs. It doesn't need to be. The tumbleweeds will wait while I spend some days soaking in October like biscotti.