We Should Probably Thank the Long Days Too

a poem about the hard days that help you get there

One Hundred Days of Gratitude. Thirty-one.

Like traveling all-day and falling asleep as soon as you board a grey train, from Paris to Amsterdam, to the sound of tinkling glass and foreign languages with familiar laughs.

And you wake up already smelling mussels and beer and diamonds and dancing and good thing, it’s impossible to waste time on a moving train. Some days are just for traveling.

So show up and shut your eyes. Maybe try having a dream — maybe of an old train station from another time sitting in the middle of the city smelling of sweet strong beer and Belgian-French-Fries.

Maybe picture it waiting for you to wake up to and realize you’re already there.

Maybe the days we spend working with our eyes shut aren’t wasted despite the mundane and the malaise maybe they’re just the travel days.