I want to be more blank, blank as a page. Write blank.
Louie scratches the pole behind me, demanding a “chickeny” treat. I ignore the scratching for blank writing, blank stillness, blank being.
More scratching. I pull out her tupperware, place chopped chicken on the floor, and then lick my fingers. She scratches again once she’s done.
Morning blank, dark blank…the mind spirals: no posts on Substack for weeks, no words, no anchor. But gratitude works: thank you for this moment, thank you for Louie’s sleep by the window, thank you for a clear autumn sky.
Just this. Nothing else.
Thank you for this and for you.
Missed you. Besos for Louie.