me, happy.

me-happy

today i left the bookstore with my arms full. i wanted her to ask why i was buying four of the exact same magazine. but she didn’t. so i offered up my reasoning because i could no longer keep it to myself. “a photo of mine was published in this magazine.” she glanced at me in her ho-hum way of tedium that comes with full time work and the christmas rush on a sunday afternoon. “that’s great.” she said and asked me if i wanted a bag. i couldn’t hide my pleasure. it sprung from my heels as i headed for the door.

lighter. i feel lighter.
and somehow more complete.

i walked out of there with my camera slung over my shoulder like it always is, like some cheesy gunslinger┬ápacifist┬ábecause i bring it with me everywhere ‘just incase’ something catches my eye which it usually does, and then if i need to make a stop somewhere i can’t seem to leave it alone in my car. i can’t help it. i’m the hovering mother. i’m the shoulda woulda coulda woman.

it’s my only possession.
it’s my best friend.
my third eye.

today i was walking down a sidewalk with both arms full of photo love and a shit eating grin spreading across my face. a smile so big i almost didn’t recognize the feeling. those muscles have been hibernating, too scared to come out and see the light of day. those muscles finally pulled around my mouth and i let myself be happy. i let it out in a big ol grin cause i’m doing it, whatever it is, i’m doing it right now. and it feels really good. and i’m happy.

me-published

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