I am uninterested in your accomplishments, the ways you slave away for accolades.
I am uninterested in calorie deficits and cardio, how you sweat to become smaller.
I am uninterested in what you did or didn’t do, what items you crossed off your to-do list, what failures you left for another day.
I am uninterested in your points of pride, your metrics, your gains.
I am interested in how you felt when the fireflies came out that first summer’s dusk.
I am interested in knowing the taste of a ripe cherry tomato plucked from the vine. The joy of the first spring shoots. A crocus in bloom.
I am interested in a hawk on the highway, unaware of our comings and goings, roads for miles and miles when all there is is sky.