Persephone swims

Maybe jealousy is the wrong word, conjuring up visions of a sweating scientist in the basement plotting some sort of revenge. And envy, too, misses the mark entirely - it's too childish; a ten year old, hands slapping floor, demanding more.

And jealousy implies almost a certain amount of assumed or presumed ownership/interest/control.

And envy tells the world you have nothing worth sharing.

Neither of these words works too well. Because it's not anger, it's not wanton, it's not wishing for anything different - not really.

It is just a shift, a new reality. We face them all of the time. We view the world differently today than we did yesterday. We try to. It can't always be the same and we hope we can be as good as we want to be as we march ahead toward what we think we know we want.

Maybe it's a little melancholy or sentimental. Perhaps it's a hint of longing for one of those road trips, one of the meals we ate but can't remember exactly where, one of the nights we never made it to bed.

It's not sadness or regret. There aren't days laying in the dark. It's not a self-loathing look in the mirror - "What happened to me?" - nothing so vehemently opposed to tomorrow.

It's just a second here and there, scattered without design across our days. It's unplanned but not unwelcome. It's unpredictable and not at all a burden. It's hoping it can show you something maybe you might have missed. It's hoping you don't dwell on it at all if you don't see it right away.

It isn't pushing an agenda. It's not concerned with making you feel bad. It's not interested in seeing you hurt.

It's lifting you up. It's holding you in place. It's a gentle touch in the morning letting you know it's time to wake up.