I walk out of the house to find some sun before it disappears. wishful thinking brings a book to read. sitting under the tree at the top of a hill I pass on my runs. the sun casts tall shadows down the slope and washes autumn branches golden. it warms one side of my face as the other shivers for attention in my shadow. easy imbalance all within my control. change sits at my whim. I’ll turn when I need to (if I do).
focus falters. so much time poured into a screen at a desk. check the news to wake up and get over myself. they’re still bombing schools. I’m still sleeping every night. more footage of parents screaming over their children’s remains. I double tap and scroll on to holidays or haircuts or whatever’s next in line. sometimes I catch myself and think I’ll throw up but I don’t. conscious moments sobered to a dystopic state of being - all too rare and overwhelming. much better to chase distraction from the madness. leave the furnace at the door: the illness is safer than the cure.
feelings embellish moments to make mountains of thoughts passing with the clouds. I oscillate between sense and the absurd like a door in the breeze. close the window when the rain comes. listen to the shower empty through the pipes in the walls and lie on the floor to get to know my ceiling. I think about hope and the claws that fit so perfect round my wrist. why do I keep crawling back? dream of freedom from dreams that free me from facing myself in the mirror.
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