i’ve got paint on my fingertips and shards of paper on my lap. there are two envelopes unsealed and undelivered beside the jar of dirty water and a blurry polaroid beside that.
god, i missed this. making things. making a mess.
and the look on your face and the sound in your voice and the feeling i think you feel when you get it. something i made. for you. it’s priceless.
i used to make cards for my mom for no reason, fold up a piece of typing paper in fours and color it with smudged ink and say something sweet, like hi, i love you, thank you for being my mommy. i don’t do enough of that.
i think a hundred sweet things every day. i grin twice as many times. and i don’t think to tell what is behind my twinkling eyes and grinning heart enough.
i haven’t written a letter to my grandmother in months.
i want to wrap the world in a big hug, awash in color and covered in glitter.