estuary

i’ll lay here in this valley, in the space worn out between real decision and desperation, perfectly content. it’s getting hot out again, rainy again. if you leave me be any longer, the river will pick right up and i’ll be out to sea soon enough, far from here, far out of your hair. so far i’ve learned: don’t worry about a thing, don’t make it complicated, don’t ask any questions. or, at the very least, if all that’s too hard: what i insist is nothing will stay nothing if i make a good enough fool of myself. keep it simple.