At what point did the curtains I used to play behind at my grandma’s house become the curtain that gets pulled up for me to dance behind? That curtain covered the inside of the big window. Yelling; “why would you open that window?”. Always wanting to get closer to what was out there. Things always hurt more as questions than sentences. You can’t open windows on planes. My mom always told me to wear a sweater on planes and in movie theaters.  I always wear the same one when I travel. Can’t help but wonder how many different people have sat in your plane seat for hours. Asses weathering it? Can you really love a pair of jeans that came with the holes when you bought them like that? I thought love came with the hours you took to weather the holes in things yourself. But then isn’t it funny how we stop wearing things as soon as there’s a hole. There are so many classes I could’ve taken barefoot that I instead took with socks with sizable holes weathered on the soles. Meeting in the middle. See for a while there I liked to match my socks to my shirt, or the stripes down the side of my pants that day. How many ways are there to destroy the shirt you have on? Rip it, or wait until you’ve worn it so much that you and time inevitably rip it together. Pick at the threads, another thing time has a hand in. Burn it. Dye it. Run it over.  Throw it somewhere you can never find it. Misplace it. Displace it. Cut it in odd ways. Forget about it. It doesn’t destroy it to give it to someone else. But it changes it. It feels odd at first to wear something that was someone else’s. Especially in front of them. Feels odd to see something be someone else’s after you lived inside of it for a time. Gives your drawer a breath just like cutting the lining out of pants or cropping a shirt lets your skin breathe. Breath is beautiful. “Beautiful”. Sometimes I think I’m overusing the word “beautiful”. What do you find beautiful? Flowers. Birds. The moving sun. Jumping to the things we can see. Eyes. Tears. Rivers. 3 ams. Bond. Talking to each other on stage. I don’t know?! No one does. Someone should put that on a shirt and then scribble out all of it except for the “I”. How do I get dressed in the morning? I stare into my dresser and think about how I have too many clothes for it. And the ones that didn’t get to come to life yesterday are wadded and spilling out of the middle drawer. What color is today? Red for some reason. I try to find that one red shirt in the festivity of yesterday and the couple days before that. Do I need to a bra? Someone else always answers that question before me. The red shirt is baggy but not swallowing. There is great refuge in swallowing. Becoming an enigma. Every third Tuesday or so, I decide I want to wear something that hugs me, shows my body with a clarity. Those are the few and far apart days where I run my hands against the walls of my femininity with a presence rather than a nostalgia happy to be elsewhere. It seems like nothing at all is more the answer lately. Enigmatic wondering. The best place for them is in the mirror in the morning. I like staple pants, so those are never hard too pick out. It is at this point that I acknowledge the temperature beyond my bedroom. Is it cold enough for a jacket? Will I decide to let that cold seep in or the warmth fight against? Again who knows what season it is or if it matters? See you have to make decisions if insulation or decoration on the daily. Every other day I remember the smaller things, like earrings. Earrings are harder, because they hold a bit of superstition. I have this one pair of earrings that I made from broken charm bracelet. My brother’s ex girlfriend went on a walk with me many years ago. She had travelled far to be there. From a place where she left her clothes out on clothesline, the air drying the object she let closest to your skin, strung up for everyone to see animated by not her as it was on other days, but by the wind. She told me that I should go. Go great distances to follow my dreams. She said it while doing just that. I have an affinity for people who tell me while showing me. Wearing their words, while they sit inside of them. A few weeks later, she gave me a blue bracelet from her travels back home. It had an elephant, a dolphin, and a seashell charm strung between the blue beads. The charms fell, first the elephant, then the dolphin. I attached them to earring wire because they made me remember what she said as we walked, and I couldn’t let them be misplaced so easily. The other day I lost the elephant. I don’t know where it could be, or at what point of my day it fell off. On the floor somewhere? Between my pillow and bed sheets? In the couch cushions? My sock drawer? I don’t know maybe it fell and it’s in the lining of my jacket? I can’t remember if it was cold enough for a jacket that day. Who knows. I’ll keep talking about it now and then, and hopefully I’ll get it back.