glimpse

i usually have narrow eyes for myself, but every so very rarely, i get a glimpse into what i could be. 

it happened today.  i was walking across a parking lot in the dark, shuffling the weights on my shoulders (so small as weights go, but so big on my shoulders), looking down, seeing narrowly, and now i can't even tell you where the crack began except to say i saw the perceived dark split open by possibility.  possibility is always light. 

i needed it.  i will hang the moment on my tree of nice things i think of while i fall asleep.  i always reserve the nicest things for just before bed: goals, gifts, my lovely memories, gratitudes. 

when i lived at home, bro bro hung words from my ceiling that used to send me to dream:

ring the bells that still can ring

forget your perfect offering

there's a crack in everything

that's how the light gets through

leonard cohen