"Iris"

Hello once more! I wrote this at random with no particular inspiration, so I hope you enjoy it!





Tomorrow I'll wake up and coffee will be there. Tomorrow I'll open my eyes and hear nothing. Tomorrow I will be... .... .... ..... .............?

I couldn't answer this. I wake up and breathe what seems to be possibility. What will I be today? The story of my life seems to not have changed much. I find answers as many times as I develop questions while the coffee brews and the nothing resonates. A writer should understand better.

Iris told me this five months ago to the date, i.e. the day she left. She looked straight at me, smiled, and said exactly that. Verbatim. A writer should know better. I hate that, the assumption that a writer must be omnipotent, all knowing, perceptive to the point of being psychic. My knowledge is as limited as anyone's. I pick up the scent of ink, enjoy the flavor of small things like scrambled eggs without salt and pepper, see intricacies in simple items such as a the uneven bumps in the texture of a basketball, but I lack the knowledge of how to properly love someone. I can't know everything she wants or feels.

Iris didn't expect me to though, I don't think. She saw us as trial run, an experience she couldn't keep but couldn't pass up. I get it. I didn't exactly promise to be exciting or even intriguing. I just said "Let's do it."

I'm not heart-broken or anything. I just realized how much I haven't appreciated anything. Or maybe I've been appreciating too much. Like yesterday, when I found this black-beaded hair clip. All I could do was stare at the way the beads reflected the colors of my hair, my sofa, my vase on the living room table, all the red, blue, and green tones. I know it's silly, but I was fascinated.

I guess it doesn't matter. This journal seems pointless anyway. Tomorrow I'll wake up and there will be coffee. Tomorrow I will be...





That's all I have. Thanks for reading, and remember to keep writing!!