Postcards for a Songbird

by Rebekah Crane

When life isn’t working, take another perspective.

Sometimes to catch love, you have to hold it to the ground, strip it down, wash the dirt away, and wait. But love will eventually surface to breathe.

Let’s get one thing clear: everyone is pretending.

Sadness is its own living being. It breathes into a person, clings to her skin, changes people right down to the light in their eyes.

“People prune dandelions, but they’re weeds. It’s their nature to grow and spread. What’s more insane: Constantly pruning something, hoping to change it, or letting the weed be a weed?”

No matter what road you pick in the woods, in the end, we all turn to gray fuzz and float away.’”

But memories are like a sponge—incomplete, filled with holes, and yet so absorbent, they can consume a person.

We are merely machines for soul-sucking corporations who use our labor and shit on our individuality.’

love makes you build a bigger house, even when the tenants are a complete mess.”

Tomorrow will eventually be a memory.”

“Nobodies to some are somebodies to others.”