I remember changing my calendar over to May, and smiling tired at the face of the new month as it smiled back at me, standing in the 6:26 morning light without sleep and looking askance at the picture of myself in the long mirror on the door, where a handle should be. I thought, here it is: one constant in a world of uncertain things, this still familiar picture on my wall.
Two days later I couldn’t remember what the picture was, anymore. I locked the front door on my way in and flipped on the light to find April, solidly, looking back. Continue reading “Hallucinating”
Most alive in my heart, most loud in my head,
I cannot bury you; you are un-dead
There are 20 minutes left in this day, and I’m ready not to think anymore.
All I want to do- were I unhampered by all these pressing eyes- is to sit and think, staring at nothing in particular, about your face. I wonder how it’s changed since you’ve been gone? I say that you’ve been gone because you left, even though it was more of a literal inevitability than a gesture of abandonment. It didn’t feel any better.
15 minutes left. Continue reading “Minutes”
“I’m just tired of living like a fucking nomad.”
I stopped trying to shove yesterday’s jeans into my work purse and exhaled frustration. He had lent me sweatpants again; because I had slept over again, because we saw each other post 9pm again, because it was the only time we could get together and I felt guilty if I only stayed an hour. Again.
“You can keep some stuff here, you know” he said, in the same way he always did.
“I know. But then I wouldn’t have it at home. I just hate carrying everything back and forth all the time, it drives me nuts.”
I just want to go home, hang up my sweater where it won’t get wrinkled, put my underwear in the laundry where it will stay and not revisit the same bra again six hours after I take it off. I just want to go home. Continue reading “Before the Break(up)”
*(I didn’t say no)
I was so, so hungry
and it was such a good drug for the pain
of carrying you on my sleeve;
because it was too good to be real,
too old to be new, a familiar habit-
Because I saw it coming and it was still a surprise,
Continue reading “Excuses”
I wished it was over as soon as it began. I wondered vaguely what I had wanted, what the disconnection was between what my head wanted and what my body clearly could do without.
I didn’t know how to tell him I didn’t care if I finished, because I’d rather he just end it so I could go home and sleep. Maybe I just liked knowing someone wanted me- because the sweat, the pain, and the awkward recognition of fakery in my own voice I could do without. I didn’t bother to fix any of it because I didn’t really care. Continue reading “Casual”