goldfish

I exhaust myself with the privilege to revel as a goldfish in my brain. what I know of the world beyond the windows and my fingertips will always be waiting. the fears and tears I jerk are almost always from my own imaginings. in spite of the headlines I live in the mirror. with my ears closed I only hear myself, deaf to the cries of a world deluged in rivers of blood, a world that once made me scream. I watch the bombs drop on my own time. they fall like rain and scorch the earth regardless.

hope and dread linger in the wings. at this point they have made themselves at home, colonising every other moment. too often I feel like their child. under their influence I think about caring and compromise. in the process of trying to open myself to you I begin to remember that currency is held in keeping caring quiet. this truth challenges the way we've been, how playful and open and willing to see each other as we are. when I think of you I don't want to play the game. when I am with you I don't want to hide.

but what do you want? is it foolish to hope you might want this more than keeping up appearances? is it better to play along the way we're taught? dread urges me to conceal my care, a wound you don't really want to see. but I miss you and mean everything that I've said. I am the statue of a mother holding her son limp in her lap, looking into his eyes. he is the hope and dreaming I know not to resurrect. can I really help wanting to try?