A Micro Memoir on Here

I’ll tell you what I like about right here, this moment we’re all sharing asynchronously, with words that mean as much in community as by themselves. Some words don’t need anyone next to them to hum. They vibrate and expand, filling space with whatever it is that they’re made of. Some of them take me places that only my breath can go. Others bring places to me that had to travel no further than the caress of a tea-stained Hydrangea bloom bouncing down the street. The resonance of a word in solitude has to move further away from themselves to find someone to bounce off of, to find togetherness. I feel them pass through me like my Elm passes through me as I stare out of my office window.

Writing lives in different places: on computers, in notebooks, in fingertips, in thoughts and feelings that never make it onto a page. Where my writing lives asks different things of me. They speak with a different part of my voice, like an unexpected cold breeze that seduces goosebumps on my skin.

Here, I’m conversing with you, the you that I imagine sitting in front of me and the you that is really there, that I may or may not meet. The moment the words leave my fingers, the conversation has started. There’s no need to pity a writer who is left out of the conversation about their words because they are no longer here. They heard what was said, what still echoes in closed books on coffee tables and tucked away on bookshelves.

Sometimes, I converse with someone else that isn’t you, like Tuesday or the color of Lavender tea. I converse with my fingers that are cool to the touch. I converse with muffled voices penetrating my office from outside. I converse with this world whose edges reach as far as my senses can. My senses are my horizons. They remind me of what it feels like to be touched. My senses reach out into the world even when I forget to.

In the spirit of spaciousness and taking time, you won’t hear from me again until I’m sharing my next zine with you. I’m excited to show you what I’ve been working on. Until then, I hope you feel spring dreaming inside of you, too!