Let me see the twenty loops the cat pulled up out of the four-month-old area rug and think, “Life is not made up of things.” Let me fall asleep at night when there is a spoon in the sink. Let me welcome you home with kisses without asking if you wore a mask on the plane. Let me let the dog inside without wiping her paws first. Let me leave the shower dripping after use without frantically scraping the squeegee down each tile more than once. Let me put a pillow on the bed that doesn’t match the walls — even better, let me use no decorative pillows at all. Let me sit next to you without asking if you need a water, need a blanket, need a snack. Let me greet a weed popping through the crack in the walkway and say, “Wow, thanks for reminding me to grow against all odds, to sprout around each barrier.”
Show me how to run — not walk — down the aisles of the grocery, grabbing what looks fun and not what’s on my list. Show me how to sing karaoke at a bar as loudly as I sing in the car. Show me how to hear a “no,” and still smile at you. Show me how to dance like no one is watching and then how not to roll my eyes at the cliché. Show me how to sit still, how to plant my foot on the ground without a bounce or fifty. Show me how to put my hands in my pockets without a secret paper towel in there, waiting for me to curl it back into pulp. Show me how to sit at a table without folding napkins into - back out of - into a square again, repeat.
Ask me to wait. Ask me to slow down. Ask me to breathe. Ask me to settle. Ask me to tell you what I see / feel / hear / taste / touch in this moment, the next, the next. Ask me to forget about yesterday, about ten years ago. Ask me to ignore tomorrow, and next week, and five years from now. Ask what I hunger for, right here. Ask me to say more. Ask me to be quiet. Ask me to stay. Ask me to go. Ask me to come and go and come and go and not think too much about what it means or if it’s forever or if it’s too much or too little. Ask me to
let myself
show myself
ask myself.
XOXOXO,
Ash 💛
