there’s a store just around a corner,
right by the flower shop and across from the sea,
surrounded by rain in a lasting sunset,
a dreamland covered in vines and daisies.
if you go in, you’ll find that it’s empty,
except for a glass table, a pen, and a
piece of paper with words, “please write down your receipt, a list of everything broken that you’ve been carrying”, above the number one, two, and three.
once you put up that pen, the walls will start to tear gently. letting the storm rush in, and, when you begin to write, you’ll realize that holding that pen will feels like you doing the correct thing, like
the weight of the world is crashing onto it.
as you keep going, though. you’ll notice that the pen feels lighter, the weight of the world less than before, just like on your shoulders, while the rain falls even more.
and when there’s no more numbers to add, the rain in a downpour, you’ll set the pen down, leaving the receipt on the table, and turn towards the path you gave everything for, built by the walls in pieces on true muddy floor, surrounded by pink and orange everywhere as you go.
you’ll know then that it wasn’t the store or the pen that let yesterday go, but you, a beautiful light on the inside and the outside, radiant and glowing, like the sun shining, rising in the rain.
