The moment I wake up something inside of me churns, bends over, doubles over itself.
A piece of paper can be folded up to twelve times equally.
My lungs are not as deep as the used to be. No one told me previously, how impossible it would be to follow the whisper that came from my dark places. I do not mean dark as in bad, I mean dark as in ignored.
There is sacrifice in every choice we make and do not make, and we all go to sleep alone at night. He tells me it is my indecision that is ruining everyone else. And I don’t say anything to change his mind.
Everything is suspended and time has taken on a mercury-like quality, dripping from moment to moment. And an afternoon can be a year. I do not know who I am if I am not in love with you. There are entire territories in Antartica that no one has ever visited. I am something like the same.
When I sleep I do not wake rested. Something is wrestling itself into the mud in those night hours. In weeks I will be in the south having a smoke outside a motel and will be wondering how I made these moves and what I was so worried about. I have a problem letting people love me.
I imagine myself in the middle of the night in our bed, hearing the brakes from a truck across the street. I tell myself if I could go back I would avoid all of this, but that is like asking yourself not to see the color blue.