Wrap your head with this material...

 I do this activity with kids where they choose three colored pencils blind and then we take them outside on a slow walk and then a journaling spot to find where the colors are. Today I did the activity too. Examining my colors, the blue not quite cobalt sends me squinting to the sky. Where in the depths of light trapped by that dome is this exact hue?  When I hold the pencil up to it, the sky is at once within my grasp and an unreachable horizon extending away from the sharpened tip, blending into now, my phone case... the refuse of an old newspaper's print. Indigo, Inego, An Ego A royal purple filled with pride. Ancient garments worth so much in their day for finding a way to dye cloth this color. It's at my fingertips, the fuzzy floral petals' veins brushed through...undersides of petals undersides of rose petals, pink rose quartz is too easy an answer. It must be in the pinks of my own flesh. Live tissues healthy with nourishing fluids and blood. Pink, pink like cartoon...

 There's a tiny hole, just big enough to put a pinky through. The fabric of my life is wearing a bit thin, loosening to let my skin out and let me find a new shape. It's tiny, but unraveling goes quick. There are just 21 days of work left before I'll need to rip the rest of the way loose and decide how to patch myself up into whatever is next. I feel the tugging of quantum strings pulling me in a variety of directions, some resonate louder and stronger while others, a drawing constant hum. I'm afraid of ending up naked, no job at all, forced to live in my own skin and remember how it feels beneath a summer sun. The sun will feel good but standing naked feels too vulnerable. I've avoiding facing the 19 days as a need to say goodbye when I'd rather simply ghost. But today, now that there is a spring warmth on my skin, that tiny hole feels like it will grow to be enough. I will grow to be enough for whatever comes next and the patch will fit just fine. Or I'll ...