I imagine spring. The last of the snow banks. Diminished, wet and hopeless, pooling and evaporating among the new grass and new love and warm air.
I imagine the lift in my spirits. The love in my chest, the pull of my smile and the grip of your hand. The sun on your skin. The bright in your eyes.
For me.
I imagine you.
I imagine you and for a moment I am weightless and for a moment I smile to myself and I breathe and exhale glad to have exhaled and waiting excitedly for the inhale.
The sun on your skin. The grip of your hand.
Here now.
The distance, and I can focus. The treasures and the trash. I can sort them and see them for what they are. What they were, could be.
A friend, a heart; "How do you know when you're in love?"
Fuck if I know.
I just am.
You just are.
What does it matter?
Be in love.
I am in love.
Alone, and in love.
Saturday, May 26, 2018
Thursday, May 10, 2018
Pulled Eyelid and a Short & Uneventful Day
In that bar in Springer.
A night like the idea of a night there.
I'm hitting you and you are bleeding from your mouth and nose. You yell and I hear you and the delight of it all keeps me going. Your hair is soaked in sweat and blood and you beg and I push my small finger into your eye and hook the lower lid and pull it and rip it right the fuck off of you and you scream out. No one notices. No one cares.
I sit back against the bench and watch as you bleed and cry.
"Better?" I ask.
"Better." You don't apologize. You know it means nothing. You know I'm coming after the other lid. Or a rib. Or your fucking scalp. You know I'm not done and you know you have earned it.
"Did you listen to the new..."
The conversation continues. Flows. You choke on blood you swallow and nod your head. You make points and some I agree with and some I don't.
I wake slow into the black room.
The dream fades quick and my mouth is dry and my head is heavy. I lay still and realize in my sleep I was pressing my body hard into the mattress. I relax and dig my phone out from under my pillow to check the time.
1:17. After noon again. The thick curtain keeps the light out and I've been sleeping in short lapses for a few weeks now. I tried to get my sleep reset at one point by staying awake for a few days but that night I only slept an hour, and then two more hours in the morning and so it continued.
I slid out of bed. Put clothes on. Stumbled through the door and into the kitchen.
I was staying with Donald and his girlfriend Kelsey. They had a french press for coffee and after nearly two months of drinking or wearing grounds each morning I was beginning to get the hang of it.
Boil water on the stove. Four spoons of grounds. Pour a glass of water. Swallow it all. Walk to the bathroom. Piss. Try to call Elle but she doesn't answer and then I can hear the water already boiling. I pour the water into the french press and while it sits for a few minutes I go over the things I have to do.
Apply for more jobs.
Check my bank account.
Check the accounts of a project I was working on.
Render video.
After that, if I wasn't drained from responsibilities and the Florida sun, I could work on things I wanted to. Paint. Write. Music. Maybe a bike ride the mile into town and back.
Pour the coffee into the cup. Consider breakfast, but go to the couch to sit instead. Television on. Catch up on a show I was half-following.
The dream sits in me. The finger pulling at the eyelid and I keep seeing it behind my own.
I was fifty-two days clean and only drinking once or twice in the week. I wondered if my sleep problems had to do with that, but I would blame them on anything. It didn't matter, they were always there.
Two and a half cups of tolerable coffee and two episodes later the dream is mostly gone.
Elle messages me and we talk for a while as I sit at the computer and send out resumes.
I really could use a drink, I think. I had four dollars and change in the bank and I reasoned; well, what the hell else am I going to do with it?
The day went on and I drank water and ate spoonfuls of peanut butter and Donald and Kelsey came home from work and I, after what was a day really only made up of five or six hours, eventually went back to bed.
Repeat.
I wake slow into the black room.
The dream fades quick and my mouth is dry and my head is heavy. I lay still and realize in my sleep I was pressing my body hard into the mattress. I relax and dig my phone out from under my pillow to check the time.
1:17. After noon again. The thick curtain keeps the light out and I've been sleeping in short lapses for a few weeks now. I tried to get my sleep reset at one point by staying awake for a few days but that night I only slept an hour, and then two more hours in the morning and so it continued.
I slid out of bed. Put clothes on. Stumbled through the door and into the kitchen.
I was staying with Donald and his girlfriend Kelsey. They had a french press for coffee and after nearly two months of drinking or wearing grounds each morning I was beginning to get the hang of it.
Boil water on the stove. Four spoons of grounds. Pour a glass of water. Swallow it all. Walk to the bathroom. Piss. Try to call Elle but she doesn't answer and then I can hear the water already boiling. I pour the water into the french press and while it sits for a few minutes I go over the things I have to do.
Apply for more jobs.
Check my bank account.
Check the accounts of a project I was working on.
Render video.
After that, if I wasn't drained from responsibilities and the Florida sun, I could work on things I wanted to. Paint. Write. Music. Maybe a bike ride the mile into town and back.
Pour the coffee into the cup. Consider breakfast, but go to the couch to sit instead. Television on. Catch up on a show I was half-following.
The dream sits in me. The finger pulling at the eyelid and I keep seeing it behind my own.
I was fifty-two days clean and only drinking once or twice in the week. I wondered if my sleep problems had to do with that, but I would blame them on anything. It didn't matter, they were always there.
Two and a half cups of tolerable coffee and two episodes later the dream is mostly gone.
Elle messages me and we talk for a while as I sit at the computer and send out resumes.
I really could use a drink, I think. I had four dollars and change in the bank and I reasoned; well, what the hell else am I going to do with it?
The day went on and I drank water and ate spoonfuls of peanut butter and Donald and Kelsey came home from work and I, after what was a day really only made up of five or six hours, eventually went back to bed.
Repeat.
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