It’s ok to be a waterfall. It’s ok to be a third, rickety wheel. When the car pulls up, it’s ok to sink into the pile of dirty laundry in the closet. It’s ok to talk about dinosaurs as if you were there. It’s ok to name your pillow Mother or Sister. When you are self-contained or restless, it’s ok to try on damages like lipsticks. It’s ok if you choose St. Germain or Heroine. It’s ok to binge watch zombie shows. It’s ok to make a map of your scars and include no compass rose. When hunched over the toilet peeing, it’s ok to imagine the bulge of your stomach holds a baby. It’s ok to wrap your sorrow around a geranium. It’s ok if you lie about it or don’t.
When the historians come to pave the field of wild strawberries that you were, it won’t look a bit like what you wanted them to remember.