Thank you.

I was driving for a while today and had time to think about writerly things. (Sidenote: according to WordPress, “writerly” is not a word. I think writerly should definitely be a word.) For some reason, my thoughts kept turning back to relationships: shifting friendships, shifting love-life relationships, how things have changed, the people who have impacted me most over the past few years. It helped me a lot, I think, to be able to reflect on everything.

So, I have something to say. To everyone. To anyone. To the people who have had an impact on who I am and who I’m becoming as a writer.

Thank you.

Thank you for cracking open my heart. Thank you for making me less innocent. Thank you for giving me something to write about. I’ve become so much more cynical, witty, and a tad bit bitter. It’s made me a better writer. Thank you.

Thank you for the experiences that I learned are bad material for literature. Somehow that made letting go easier, knowing it wasn’t even good material. Thank you for giving me the experiences that taught me these things.

Thank you for not holding me back. Thank you for leaving. Thank you for giving me the space to concentrate on the things I need to be doing right now.

I’m just feeling sort of overwhelmed with gratitude for the way things have gone down since college started. I can’t believe it’s more than halfway done. And I’m so very thankful for the way that everything’s turned out.

P.S. I’m sorry if that way terribly cryptic. I just needed to articulate the thankfulness. Besides, even if it’s vague, don’t we all need reminding to be a little more grateful anyway?

I’ve got a new poem in the works. It’s brewing. In the meantime, here’s a nifty little poem, too. Never heard of Levertov, but I like this.

Losing Track by Denise Levertov

Long after you have swung back
away from me
I think you are still with me:

you come in close to the shore
on the tide
and nudge me awake the way

a boat adrift nudges the pier:
am I a pier
half-in half-out of the water?

and in the pleasure of that communion
I lose track,
the moon I watch goes down, the

tide swings you away before
I know I’m
alone again long since,

mud sucking at gray and black
timbers of me,
a light growth of green dreams drying.

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