Deceptive Sunshine

Cold today in South-Central Indiana. But the sun makes me want to run outside in barefeet.

Why is it I gravitate toward writing about the weather?

There's so much more going on in my life, really. Think I might just be a little shy, not being able to see you. Not being able to know who you are, reading my thoughts. Though I only sent the address out to friends and family, there's the chance of a passerby. And why do I care that a "stranger" would know as much about my as my college buddies or my mom?

So. Here's what's on my mind, minus my mis-placed, though nearly consuming, desire to make it all poetical and insightful...

I will soon be sharing my home with my brother. After living counties and then state away from each other for the past nearly 8 years, will we... well... do the door-slamming, hair-pulling shout-it-outs that we never did as teens?

This month is my birthday. And I want attention. My grandfather may not be breathing on this earth to see me turn 26, let alone be in my wedding, hold my first child, or tell me any more stories about his life. He may not even remember me now.

Today I am closer to my dreams than I have ever been. Today is the day I dreamed about when I was 12.

Poetry books are composed of more than three poems. I need to write more.

Love is a decision. Decisions are the result of emotions and logic. Decisions form habits, which produce character. Love should be such a natural decision that it is just what I do.