5. invitation

Some invitations don’t feel welcoming even as they offer you their new world.  Inside, there is no glittering laser-cut confetti or blowup mylar entreaties. No promise of a cake-stuffed bellies or lips crusted with vibrant aqua frosting. No gorging. No indulgent party dresses. No debaucheries. No morning-after, eyes half-shut while the angled light whispers a giggling victory, “You are so hungover. The day is already done before it has begun.”

Instead some invitations boil like sulfuric mud and burp gaping mumblings; incoherent, sincere, summoning. This opened envelope is empty, but packs you with steady rumbling, the shifting tide, an awakening shake. It incites a nervous ticking. Inside is a new world with everything you think you haven’t claimed but its message shapeshifts. Fear or intuition, which on is it?

Stay the path or swerve?

Either way, this invitation insists on the inevitable. Now, there is no more cruise control, it is time take the reins and accept a new change.