Felicity
Still loopy from Covid(?) the other week, I thought I might let you in on the songs I want sung after I leave. Not that I’ll care, anymore. They’re on a sheet of paper in a bag hanging right inside the back door.
(I don’t know, just now, a single reason why I would die. But that’s hardly a prerequisite. What does anybody know?)
Yellow was starting to hit the wisping leaves beyond the window. Released from his nighttime quarters, delirious with the freedom, Buster was paddling his legs across the grass. And all by happenstance, spouting from my laptop speakers were these flaming, clarion words—somebody’s I love—
Oh world.
I didn’t go dig out my requests right then, but now, below are three. Maybe listen—get out of cluttered busybody nastynasty Facebook and soak up every last scrap of felicity, turned way up loud. Then don’t come back for the rest of the day. Stay away. Let the golden air play on your flushed, alive face. Seize what you can, honey. Seize it.
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