There’s buttercups in a field that stretched on forever. I’ve nothing but time and the curiosity of a butterfly. I want to walk and walk. I want to gather the biggest bouquet of buttercups I’ve ever seen, but my legs are too tired and finally the sun is so warm I feel it in my bones. It’s winter in other places but here it’s rain and shine. I do wish we had snow but the sun feels so inviting and the air smells like vanilla cupcakes. Maybe I’m just manic. Maybe I’m finally happy and have nothing else to show. Or maybe I’m a liar and my life is falling apart at the seams. I’m going to stick with happy because I can. Because I’m a fucking writer and it is expected of me to tell the truth. So I grin and turn my face to let the sun warm the left side. I hum hymnals that were branded into my brain as a child that bring me peace regardless of my beliefs and I shove off my shoes to wiggle my toes in the vanilla breeze. I love you  Lord, and I lift my voice let it be a sweet sweet sound in your ear… 

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