Elbowing.

I am finishing my homework in a way. The truth of the matter is though, I am enthralled with the French ballet and trying not to itch my feet and reading this. So in another way, I am not finishing my homework.
I have been wondering over elbows. The curves and creases. Stability and vulnerability. I appreciate lines these days. Elbows are good lines.
I went to the ocean this past weekend. Searched for tiny seashells. Watched the waves. There was one point when I laid down on the ground and pressed my elbows into the sand. I laid alone there for a long time, staring out, pushing onto the shore, thinking. I thought about how you can miss someone so much as I do. I thought about becoming older. I thought about sea smooth pebbles and glass. And I thought about elbows.
What is an elbow? It might be a hinge, a simple structuring of the human body to move and bend and just be. Or a point. It could be a place where things meet, where your skin gathers or grows from. It could be a tool. A tool with the ability to bring pleasure or pain.
What is an elbow really though?
I don't have an answer. There's something beautiful about having a pair of them though. To rest on a table and hold yourself. I love it.

I miss the sea.
I miss Kirsten.
I miss the ballet.