ello, jello

Something’s stirring

Something I can’t quite name, there are no words for the flavor of it

This something came alive today when I saw the watercolor of a velvet fig at a local artist’s booth. I could see it in my kitchen, the one I haven’t moved into yet. Another spark of it when I bought some ridiculously-named loose-leaf tea from another vender, and could just imagine the feeling of drinking something naughty within the confines of my beige cubicle. It ached, though, when I saw the faded jean vest. Exactly what someone would wear if they played bass in a punk band. I hadn’t even put it on and I knew it would fit. Tight, like a corset. And exactly what I wanted. I turned to my friend and said I would buy it if it was under $30, and it was $27. She’s taking singing lessons and I guess it’s time to find a bass.

Two years ago around this time, I left my hometown to seek out the very thing I’m living today. Now I could be wrong, I don’t know what this feeling is, but I can’t help but think it might be hope