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and I will have blue.

[maya angelou]

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it's thanksgiving, and it's lovely. i'm home with family, i have a job, and this makes it seem like anything is possible, like no matter how many hearts i break, including mine, everything will grow up and be more wonderful than i could have imagined. it's cold outside, and i love it in a way that i reserve only for dreams, and naps, and empty rooms with brick and wood and swirling dust motes. i love it like my sister's voice laughing inside a car that i've just shut, like signs i don't understand on unbroken highways to places i haven't yet smelled. to me it's like small trucks and bleached bones and twenty-somethings on farms, like warm arms, like the weight of a book in my hand that i already know i'm going to like.