how are you well?

and what are your guarantees?

how are you, really?

i’m well. i just find myself feeling scarce and tense, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

i focus on the impossibility and conflict.

there’s an infinite “why?” gonging loud in my chest—it never rests.

but i’m well. i just try to enjoy the journey.

there’s no perfect moment, not the ones that last anyway, not the in-between moments, the only moments that are guaranteed.

the in-between is the only guarantee.

waiting in line.

indecision.

warming hands.

cooling down.

watching the advertisement.

pumping gas.

ignoring the text. ignoring another.

simmering soup.

brushing teeth.

traffic and running late.

how are you, really?

do you enjoy the only things that are guaranteed?

sometimes i stop and write what i see and what i feel and it makes me realize how simulated this all is—and how free i really am.

and then the traffic makes me laugh.

and i feel well.

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