at 4am

I have memories close at hand, to help and hurt me.  To cut and heal. To force me to rest or push me to fight;

Sitting on the edge of the bed reading and looking up at her, arms slung overhead and snoring like an enraged baboon and still
devastatingly beautiful

With my brother, backpacks slung over each shoulder

Feet smashing through the curling leaves.

He says something funny

The other laughs and punches him on the shoulder then hugs me

Waking up at four am, philotic connections, like golden wires to my family still asleep spreading out in front of me

Being able to be thankful for everything I have, without plan or purpose, just gratefulness I’m able to experience it.

Drunk and buttnaked in Birmngham, throwing furniture at each other and wondering what housekeeping will say if they come to the door.  

A superspeed litany of ‘shitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshit’ under my breath while gripping wall-holds with just two fingers and trying not to fall to the ground

Making her laugh so hard we ended up holding each other close so she wouldn't fall over, my arms around her thin waist and kissing her while people walking by couldn’t help but smile.

(Apparently) shouting at a pt client that she could do it and don't she dare give up, being unaware of everyone else in the gym watching this hyperactive ethnic with a vein popping in his neck.

Being able to answer questions that start with ‘Can you help me with this…’.

Legs and feet dangling over a cliff face in Iceland,

Whole body trembling under a barbell knowing if I don't get the fucker up I'll be pinned under it...

again.

Broken sunlight and blood in salt waters

Broken locks and keys that snap in half

Being asleep while she knocked on my window in Dead times.