I want to write in this because what am I if not a writer, but it's hard and stupid. I took a long run in the pouring rain today because nobody told me not to. I'm bad at running this year, but I'm trying to do better. I feel so, so, so tired and I've been telling myself it's the vaccine, but in truth, I've felt more alive in my dreams than I have in my life, even when most of them are bad.
Such small things for such a small person. I filled up the extra vases with daffodils and forsythia. The sky was bluer than gunpowder tonight, and a crow sat with me in the backyard and begged for increasingly good food: peanuts, cheese, sliced up little pieces of sausage. Tomorrow will be April.
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