I think almost any writer would feel the same. I'm not really talking about money, but more of feeling that fatty stack of papers that is the first draft of a manuscript. That magnificent pile on the side of your desk, always attempting to be pushed over as you set down the next page. It's easy for me to dream about it, since I currently own two typewriters, so I can see the physical manifestation of the accumulated writing. I think you can have it as a word document, as you look down at the page count, and see the number getting closer to what you wanted. It'd be so rewarding to place that last page, and rest your hands on it, knowing that you're done, for the time being, writing. It'd also be a little traumatizing sending it in for the first time, I'd guess. It'd be like your kid going to school by themselves for the first time, or trying to cook with a crock pot while you're not home. There'd be a lot of uncertainty and worry, but by the end of the day, it'd work out. Most of the time.

cheek to chest

back traced by fingertips

tangled legs

a jumble of limbs

sleepy and half here

half there

breath

sleepy mumbling

soft reminders

of promises recited

long ago

I want to touch

My grandpas wrinkled

Tough hands

Just once more

But I know I never will again

And I think I've come to terms with the fact that I will never get to hug him again

Or even hear his laugh

I want to wrap my arms around

His tired body

I want to be with him and hear him whistling while he is cooking

I want to be with him and I know I will one day

But for know I will soak myself in memories

I never knew pain like this, before he left

But I do now

And it sucks

I can just imagine it

touching it like I haven't

had it in years

my lips lean in

as the steam rolls off

satisfaction in the air once again

it ran chills all down my body

I can feel it coursing through me

taking it's place as my pupils dilate

heart beat starts to quicken

and I'm alive again until

it leaves me only to find myself

refilling my cup again.

I really just want to hold my brothers right now. That's all I want, is just to be able to hold them and know that everything will be alright.

Normally, all I would have to do is make the drive to see them. But, they're thousands of miles away right now. So, I'm stuck with pictures, videos, and an empty feeling in my heart.

your mind remains pure

the hills of your imagination are not scarred

your little being rests silently,

tossing slightly,

breathing softly...

it is a mind unbiased

and i can only hope that it will

be touched by something,

be moved by someone's words

no matter who

There's a certain smell that impregnates my nose when I reach the peak...

It's the same smell that arises as I carefully step across the wooden porch

Down the old stairs and dusty path that leads to my hidden shore.

The sand envelops my feet as I land on it and walk directly into the water.

I want to feel the rays on my face, the calm lake lapping at my legs, and the peace that I only know in Tahoe.