I want grit in my basket.

The rain is.. different, rain. Today tears have every right to take place under my eyes forming puddles on my pillow and forcing air out of my lungs as I notice I've now done it, I've now let go, and I know it's real now... But in the different rain I see mud puddles like a little, excited child with new rain boots might.

I'm not looking at the rain and thinking what a dreary day. I see lots of uncomfortable things out of the window, and I want to be a part of it. I'm not worried about the cold or my clothes. I'm not worried about what I might eat later or getting that loverly puncture in my skin to make way for that needle to pierce my vain again, I'm not worried. I just need to be a part of the rain.

I need to run and roll, not worrying about the result of it all. I need to throw mud and make a mess of myself. I need to believe no one is watching. I don't want a nice warm shower waiting for me, I don't want fleece p,j.'s folded up with there newly washed sent. I want to belong with the mud the dirt. The grit is all mine today and I want to be part of it. I want to laugh when no one can hear and scream and not have any idea. I want to wipe tears of my face with a muddy hand and touch every leaf on the tree. I want to lean against the bark and feel the texture of everything.

I'm craving texture and I'm in the need to fill my basket with something different. No more shiny crystals or nice comfy pj's, I wanna fill my basket with grit and make it look used. I want to make it mine and make no one else want it. I want to be alone with the dirt. With the texture. With the grit.