saturday morning

Our ending are never clear. The waves crash, the events ebb and flow. And there is never any knowing what is done or just beginning. He came in and asked my name as quickly as his face disappeared. But here he is again, vying for my attention. He has crashed in to my world, throwing the axis, and I am guarded hoping it will not tilt. This morning the air was sharp as I filled my lungs. A puff of air came out of my mouth as I sighed. Climbing the hill, my sister in front. The leaves were dissipating into a thick mucilage of muck on the trail beneath our feet. Thoughts of each encounter that has left me empty passed through my mind like a montage. Each ending never being quite clear.