I want to recommit myself. To a kind of purpose. A passion. A plan. I want to run, not ramble. Then I want to sit very, very still. I want my babies in my bed with me like a pile of rose petals. I want to celebrate the plainness of the evening. The golden honey of the sun as it goes. Seeping into my room like a secret. Whispering to me so quietly, so subtly. I want to know the comfort of their laughter like this always. The far away nearness of it. Kite tails trailing through the front yard. I want to let my heart bloom and bloom like a cherry blossom. Impossibly perfect. Knowing it can’t sustain this much reverence and beauty for long. But letting it fan out anyhow. In this bright pink, excruciating and tender way.