The day before

Some mornings,
it's hard to get
out of bed.

Sleep lures you
like a stranger
with a piece of candy.
Follow me.
It will be okay.
I promise.
You know better,
but still you follow,
because you really do
love candy.



I grab my backpack
containing
the essentials—
extra clothes,
just in case;
my drumsticks,
just because;
my camera,
just for fun;
and a box of jelly beans,
just like always.



Sometimes, love is loud.
Sometimes, love is quiet.



I lean back
into the cool leather seat,
close my eyes,
and let the music fill
all the empty spaces



Many times
when I read a book,
I want to savor
each word,
each phrase,
each page,
loving the prose
so much,
I don't want it
to end.



In the dark of the night,
hold on to the light,
and you'll get
back home safely.



It's like a dream.
The kind of dream
you wish for again and again,
night after night,
because it was so good
the first time.



I see you.
The real you.
The you who flips a coin,
hoping to understand
how fate works:
this choice or that choice,
ultimately leaving you
no choice at all.



He will survive.
Get better.
Thrive.
Or so they hope.



And suddenly I get it.
There isn't magic out there.
There is magic here.
Right here, in this place
that brought us together
the day before
we face our fears
and our lives change forever.
Magic in the jellies.
Magic in the lighthouse.
Magic in the music.
Magic in the kisses.
Magic in the glitter.
Magic in us.
What we need
will appear
right when we need it.
Just like it did
today