I miss gardening.

Grimy fingers digging eagerly, ungloved, through the soil.

Searching for life in the tiny bones of long wilted flowers.

Playing my guitars.

Grabbing chords from the air & creating harmony on my own ... with air & steel & nylon & wow, how I miss the weight of my guitars on the crease of my thigh.

Making jewelry, creating patterns & revelling in the endless choices that existed before I chose one certain path & became giddy with the thought of someone wearing it around their neck... of it becoming part of them ... reminding them of my love ... it used to mean something to me.

Playing my drums, especially my Djembe, making some noise, especially late at night... creating something ... anything.

Does anybody here remember Poppy Lynn?

What has become of me?

Miss caring about the things that made me feel like ME.

Miss caring about most things at all.

I miss running through sprinklers with bubble wands in hand, smiles & giggles & bare-feet & Rusted Root blaring from the window hogging speakers.

Miss ginormous pots of summer minestrone, stinking up my house with basil & garlic ... stoned friends I loved enough that it hurt, always around & smiling & willing to eat the entire huge batch in one drunken summer night.

Miss caring about people in general.

especially friends.

I have become wary & suspicious because of him ... I won't ever forgive that.

Never was I wary or suspicious.

Goddess, how I used to love strangers.

Miss having a flair for the exotic & the dramatic & a passion for the unknown & the gourmet.

Miss taking lovers.

Miss crushing hearts with a glance & putting them back together with a kiss.

Miss the power I had, the confidence ... the faith in myself.

I just haven't quite figured out this version of me & I haven't go the desire or energy to do so.

In time, it'll come.

:blowing my speakers: Counting Crows ~ Amy Hit The Atmosphere

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