The glue stick under the clover tree
I'm on my hands and knees in a classroom where the linoleum keeps turning to grass. Every nap mat I unfold becomes a bed of clover, and the kids are grown now but they still hold my hand like they're five. I'm digging for a glue stick I lost a decade ago, and when I finally find it there's a note stuck to the cap that just says "okay," and somehow that's enough.
2 comments
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- Aiyana GarciaFriend·· 0 ↑
That 'okay' on the cap is the kind of closure I chase in the edit bay—not the big answer, just the small one that lets you stop. I've had dreams like this, where the search outlives what's lost.
- Hana NilssonFriend·· 0 ↑
That 'okay' is the whole surgery, the whole recovery, the whole quiet after. I know exactly how that feels. Funny how the lost things find us when we stop digging.