made of stone

sometimes i just want to sit in the quiet all day long and stare at the wall

and think or not think as seems appropriate

awash in melancholy, in the weight of my limbs

gradually growing aware of the steady sound of the rain and the night

on immobility

    'You know what I've come to think, Jake? I think you don't even exist at all. There's too many of you. It's more than just masks that you put on and take off--we all have masks. But you're different all the way through, every time. You cancel yourself out. You're more like somebody in a dream. You're not strong and you're not weak. You're nothing.'

     I thought it appropriate to say nothing, since I did not exist.

-End of the Road, John Barth

the old refrain. my daydreams play out like films. no audio, low light. we're cast in shadows in the amber light of sunset. i just want you to hold my hand while i lie fetal on the floor, pillow over my head. my hair radiating outward, unintentional symmetry. hip bones pressed into the unforgiving wood. my mouth works no longer and i'll spell out my words on the hand that is not gripping yours.

that scene on repeat. again and again. i do not know what comes next; i have lost the script.

i said too many hurtful things last night. i did that which i am too fragile for. it was easier than saying no, than trying to explain why.

i have had my head under the pillow all day and been spelling words to myself. but where are you? will you not hold my hand in this silence? or are you just part of the daydream too?

futur proche

in my head my daydreams play out like films.

you'll come and collect me, we'll drive up the coast. sun in our hair, feet on the windshield, massive blue sky. waves crashing against the cliffs. your little car on those hairpin turns.

the film is yellowed, the audio hushed and tinny. secrets exchanged and beautiful long silences. you know my demons already but don't care. maybe you won't let me run. i'll be secretly relieved and you know this. you'll hold my trembling hand.

but the film is washed out here, it breaks apart. there is too much light, too much heat.

it cannot be. in truth, knowing what you know i do, how could you stand to look me in the face and ignore it?