date in J a n u a r y
Three years, one after the other, I asked myself the same question.
I
asked myself who it is I want to be. Three years ago, I wrote down in
my notebook that I wanted to be the one. The year after that, I wanted
to be the one that got away. This year, I want to get away.
date in F e b r u a r y
I have dreams about waking up. Last night I dreamt I woke up wearing his face.
date in M a r c h
Supposedly it's too early to be philosophising, but today I still hope to see my shadow prove to me I'm a whole and real person.
date in A p r i l
This morning there was a damaged boy in my bed. One I remember from months ago, when I was alone and wanted to be wanted, not even wanted, just accepted, then and then and then, in those moments. I don't remember how he got here but I guess I must be feeling the same. Need to be here, here and here. Except that I don't need to be here. I just need what I can't have.
s u m m e r
Months we don't speak of, now we don't speak.
date in A u g u s t
Time clings like cat hair and days are arbitrary smudges of
light on the darkness that drops with night's fallings. My fingernails
are cracked with good intentions but I can't find meaning in anything.
Today on my walk home from work I found some old maps from pre-war
London someone had lfet on the side of the road, near the drain where
leaves are collecting. They remind me of body bags pulled up into banks
that part for the cars to gleam through. I spread the maps out on my
floor at home and traced the tiny roads with my fingers, pressing
stickers onto places I remembered from when we used to take our
adventures on the trains I was so afraid of taking before I met him.
date in S e p t e m b e r
I'm the only one at work who wears a long-sleeved uniform.
date in O c t o b e r
A storm last night split the sky open. It looks like the back of
the moon. There are no apples in the fruit bowl, no milk in the fridge.
I'm lonely but for the birds that still come even though I broke the
bird table he built.
date in N o v e m b e r
Someone today thought that I was their old friend. I was stopped on
the street by a woman perhaps in her late fifties. She had the kindest
eyes, and they were greener than summer leaf, and they were so warm I
could have heated my hands on them. I had to let her hug me before I
forced out a laugh and said to her that I didn't know what she meant,
that I probably wasn't who she was looking for. When she let go of me, I
heard myself crying from the inside out. I heard the voices again,
those that come from somewhere between my bones and all over, but under,
and when she walked away I wanted to run after her. I went home and
didn't cry, just watered the plants and watched the news.
date in D e c e m b e r
Christmas
television crackling, hard folded bedsheets, night quiet and heavy at
the window, looking in. It doesn't see me.
date in the N e w Y e a r
This year, I want nothing from anyone.
