rustico. rustic. dust. iconic.

there is sand in my soul. some is dry, blowing here and there, covering broken shells and things. some is wet, slurring beneath the waves as they tumble in.

i drew a picture of me in straight lines. all straight lines. i drew until i was sick. i drew something sad on accident. it was me, accidentally. i drew an icon of myself, something sandy, sad, and rusticonic. i went to bed with a headache. i woke up with a headache, sweating. i didn't mean to draw it so sad.

today, roommate moves in. what does this mean for me? the dry sand part of my soul feels the freedom that this change brings. while the slurring wet sand of my soul churns memories and emotions beneath the surface, i lift my feet. paddle hard. kick hard. catch this wave at just the right moment. there is both joy and pain in experience. but awaiting me on the dry sandy beach is...