More and more, I want to bust out. Change things up. Be redder.
It’s about ownership, admission, sitting still, standing up, wearing my skin like a second skin, buying smaller jeans, reaching across the table for what I want, not waiting to have a glass of wine, having it now.
It’s what’s after the deep grieving that comes with aging.
It’s delicious to rip off the mourning clothes and go naked.