Semikolon Notebook

“dear diary, last week i had a dream about my favorite teacher. the one who showed me consistent care + space to be. and spoke with a slight lateral lisp & wit. (with similar mannerisms to ruby setnick) the first person i met who shared beauty unconditionally. she taught literature. words. and loved my sister. and inspired me to be more just by sharing + being. she planted a dream of acquiring knowledge for life. that was her dream, once she stopped teaching. and i found it peculiar at the time. but instead of asking questions, i shared songs with her. and through her ~ her kids (who my friends used to babysit) she mentioned my music in her speech to our graduating class. that was the world to me when i felt like i had nothing. and i’ve been living my version of her dream for most my life. and what an enriched life it’s been. living + learning in a dream that can be shared. ⚭ in the dream, she was presenting beautiful words. that were laid out like how they sound. murmur evoke ennui i found it strange i could read in a dream. but i sat at the desk and held soft focus so i could write. remember. she asked us to keep a diary. a journal. of signs we notice that map to wakings, dreams, stars. and before i woke, i asked her ~ if we’ve been taking note of things from earlier in the year, would She want that too? she smiled and said ~ yes. She would like to know. ⚯ i know she’ll be invited on the day i wed. just hope she'll be around to see it, but she'll be with me regardless. and we can 'verse about it later. cause i still remember the book she read between lessons, that i never read but was noted in the margins of my essays in red. and her favorite poem which was the only one i care'd to tolerate. read. understand. and remember a correspondence in 2014, as i started my career. and found my path. still shy i wasnt more and would disappoint. but i can still read her words in her voice. and 2018 when i came home after almost losing my sister, to have a reunion with friends. wasnt in a recognizable state when i held the door open. too many words to say ‘anyway, but still a slow standing salutation ~ that i finally grew stronger than the demons that kept me. and that i could always hear her cheering for me. its on my list to reach out to her again. cause it feels like another familiar rhythm. but i dont know if i'll be able to speak about the depths i witnessed ~ pulled myself out of again. and again. ~ without crying. but i've already started. .. ..what is that feeling i have for a mentor who cared. ..can i name it? how can that be love when it’s just sparse memories and a feeling i’m left holding. now, remembering. misremembering. wretched slippery heart with no ends to grasp.. well, i’d rather it be love. & appreciation. than anything temporary. so i wrote this down once my eyes opened with a new memory of her to keep sake. [making a few flow edits but most of the sentiments are there] ~~~ semikolon makes a great notebook but a dumb punctuation mark. sorry, it just visually doesn't make sense ; reads more like a technical annotation. like if punctuation had weight, why would you put something heavy over a breath. and when placed like this; looks like it might topple over and fall on the word next to it. that's a unsafe structural grammar mark >:[ ask a coder's opinion too. anywho, a design mentor at our old studio gifted us these (of any color we wanted) along with Twyla Tharp's The Creative Habit ~ which i actually did finish cause it resonated at the time and taught me to look and learn from other creative fields besides just what i wanted to learn. has served me well through all sorts of creative & life seasons. still like the color, but buying a smaller one that's a little warmer hue. that was a rec from a musician artist friend from Atlanta who keeps multiple for different outlets + tones of thoughts.”