One day

We beat the sun into the day. We took our coffees to the edge of the world and watched the horizon push out red and green and orange, and then blue. We remembered a conversation a year ago, where we both wished that one day we would be writers.

One day we would be writers – but only after the job was wrapped up, and the lease was over, and the lose ends were tied, and everything was in place. Then we got sick of waiting and left it all and stepped into the world as it was, and said,

‘We are writers.’

Nothing may come of it. Maybe not a word will be published, not a sentence read. I will deal with those things as they come. But for now, every day is the day I wake up and say,

‘I am a writer.’

So I win.