I was writing in my sleep. It was about the alley and how I could feel the old house sitting in the dust just on the other side of the asphalt street.
Invisible, blocked by a row of oily-damp garages and the quiet backyards of Sugarhouse. It was the house I was married in. Not the verb, as in I got married there but I was married there- a married woman.
Now I don't really have time to write.
Between the hours that were suddenly diverted yesterday & the unfinished work, I needed to make up for this morning at the gym. I don't have time to lay down the words that walk big circles around my feelings about having to be that close to it again.
But I did want to at least note it was written, all be it was only in a dream.
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