curled up in this nebula

1.
pale promises of courage i give myself.
i can't eat without thought. 

i am distracted by your eyes, your skin, your hands. i think this is a good thing but i've been losing time again these days. 

ninety degrees is a far way to turn. 
i must see it differently. i must. 

she is a universe of exploding color of which snatches i can catch. 

she fills my insides with chalk-orange, only that's not because of her. 
that's what she brings out of me. 
i'm starting to understand what trust is. 

it's a language whose syntax is not explicit. i cannot glean this one in a semester. 
but it is not math; it is there. i can learn it. 

like everyone else. slow. arduously. so many mistakes.  

this is the one that's worth learning in the end, i imagine. 
there is no language if there is no one with whom to communicate. 
it becomes useless, confusing. 

2.
the scratch of the new carpet feels fine against my cheek. 
i need to feel something that i can touch. 

abstract language: not mastered till high school. 
abstract feelings. not yet mastered. 

they swirl about in that continuum of spacetime in which i am always lost. 
stars explode and are born amidst red hydrogen light. 
i turn eddies there, red drifts through my fingers, i am not yet formed. 
feelings not fully developed. 
she needs to incubate longer. please leave her in. 

but they can't, it's time, it's time to go and make due with what there is.
she will stumble on and learn the rest. 

she will understand, at least, how to feel the fibers of the carpet and see home.