The night knows all my secrets.
Sometime plucked from between imaginary stars
during that night which just passed
I misplaced myself-
again.
This morning I find fragments scattered about-
don't remember
anything breaking-
kitchen counter, bathroom tiles,
stairs, crumples on the carpet. Never in one piece.
I want to find tiny bits,
tiny pieces, in characters
and phrases between pages
upon pages in thousands of books
until I'm whole-
again?
Just keep reading.
One day all the nights will have my story to tell.
Wednesday, 15 August 2012
Friday, 10 August 2012
Of walls and windows.
I unearthed this story I wrote when I was 18 when empting the drawers of my desk. I wish I could still write like this, without so many neuroses and such a spinning mind. I was so free with my pen at that age. What has happened to me?
Winter had thus far only seeped into her bedroom, like dust sleeping in all her drawers and picture frames. When he came over he opened her window, and then the winter lived there comfortably. Walls have very little work to do when windows are open for they protected her from nothing but the hallway. With each passing day she had lived in a different box.
She began to like all the big warm galaxies outside which belonged to other people; the neighbours and businessmen and the postman, their many rushes and concerns. They played board games together, even though he was a rampant rule-bender. In the past, when it was cold, her eyes had always become frostbitten, small and too precise, but now she paid more attention to bird and trees instead of her shoes. She began to read patterns and maps on the backs of her hands, despite the any inches of night-time between her glance and her skin. At a keen eighteen years, she was used to grandiloquent excuses for beauty and thriving off some borrowed edginess. But she would never tire of the handsomeness of someone different, who sees things not through the windows of others or through a convex mirror, but in ways that made her realise she had been living her life with eyes closed.
At Christmas she asked for time to read every book and listen to every record that had ever been recommended. She asked for an end to walls and symmetry.
Her name changes seasonally now. She keeps the books and records in her car and they continually grow in number. Th others wondered where she slept and why she couldn't stack her books there. She talked of vaulting over the too-large world and finding a place where she could distinguish stars from planes. And she she woke up in her morning, she found that he was there too.
Winter had thus far only seeped into her bedroom, like dust sleeping in all her drawers and picture frames. When he came over he opened her window, and then the winter lived there comfortably. Walls have very little work to do when windows are open for they protected her from nothing but the hallway. With each passing day she had lived in a different box.
She began to like all the big warm galaxies outside which belonged to other people; the neighbours and businessmen and the postman, their many rushes and concerns. They played board games together, even though he was a rampant rule-bender. In the past, when it was cold, her eyes had always become frostbitten, small and too precise, but now she paid more attention to bird and trees instead of her shoes. She began to read patterns and maps on the backs of her hands, despite the any inches of night-time between her glance and her skin. At a keen eighteen years, she was used to grandiloquent excuses for beauty and thriving off some borrowed edginess. But she would never tire of the handsomeness of someone different, who sees things not through the windows of others or through a convex mirror, but in ways that made her realise she had been living her life with eyes closed.
At Christmas she asked for time to read every book and listen to every record that had ever been recommended. She asked for an end to walls and symmetry.
Her name changes seasonally now. She keeps the books and records in her car and they continually grow in number. Th others wondered where she slept and why she couldn't stack her books there. She talked of vaulting over the too-large world and finding a place where she could distinguish stars from planes. And she she woke up in her morning, she found that he was there too.
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