semikolon

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 when i eventually wed.
just hope she'll be around to see it,
but she'll be with me regardless.
and we can 'verse bout it later.

cause i still remember the book she read between lessons, 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 a 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 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.

it’s 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 from 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.

~~~

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 unbalanced 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 finish'd 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 artist friend from Atlanta who keeps multiple for different outlets + tones of thoughts.