Wet Hair
I don’t mind that my hair is still wet from yesterday’s swim,
that my journal is thick with half-finished prose,
that sand has made its home in every corner of my abode and belongings.
I care only that I’m growing.
Only that I’m living in love.
Only that I wake each day
and spend it as God intended.
For me.
For me.
So then I can wake for others.
