i feel it in my bones. i'm ready to move. not to a new apartment, or city--though that'd be nice, too--but rather metaphorically speaking, i'm ready to move on. sometimes i think i've let go too much. or too easily. i've grown rather good at it. don't get me wrong, i have got a heavy heart, but that's only because i know how to use it. just like an old tattered suitcase, i know how to tuck things away in there. it's grown weighty throughout all these years. sometimes it gets hard to breathe. i bet when i'm old i'll have scoliosis due to it's constant tugging. my thumb is red, not green. i garden often under this skin of mine. when i'm sad or bored, i start plucking out all of these roots you have left, and sometimes i accidentally pull a vein and it tugs at my heart. or sometimes it jerks a memory. but i'm pulling them all out. i've almost finished. i did a lot of gardening tonight. there are a few weeds i'll have to get in the morning or in my sleep. i daydream too much these days, that's when they all come back. now i've got these fresh roots attaching. casually finding their way into the marrow.