+ I hate driving down Embassy Row. I hate that all these nations have brick buildings with fancy gates and security posts right along next to one another on sovreign soil in the "home of the free world." It's a tease. They're so close, and yet so far. Inches, blocks apart and yet they can't seem to figure it out on a national level. Neighbors, they are. They could borrow a cup of sugar, if they wanted, and it wouldn't matter if war was on the front lines at home. And I hate it.
+ After Embassy Row, near the Naval observatory, there's this long curve lined with trees, lots of trees, because Rock Creek Park is on the east side of the road. And every night when I drive home, there are deer. Standing on the side of the road, poking their noses around in the grass, waiting to hop along across the street, hoping not to get hit. They're so calm, so near traffic, and so calm. And I'm jealous.
+ I want to wake up next to someone. I want to be held when I feel unsettled and hugged when I feel upset. It's selfish and needy, but there are too many hours in my life that I have gone without affection and tenderness when I most needed it. Those are the fleeting moments I can't take back, but can try to remember. And I'm alone.
+ Finally, a quick ditty. Written from a blur of frustration and curiosity and tired. And I am lacking.
you have your gates so near one another, but gates is all they are.
inches you live, so close together, but nations afar you fall apart.
and who are the reckless and lifeless and lean? your diplomatic murder machine.
so stand tall and seek answers, make gates into gardens and war into weeds.
because everyone knows words may only be letters, but peace is poetry.