January Thirtieth, Two-Thousand Eleven. It was a Sunday.
One of the hardest things in life is
having words in your heart that you can’t utter.
— James Earl Jones
sunlight through the window //
// you exhale as i inhale
wide-eyed sleeping habits
falling with my feet on the ground //
// maps of your past and past lives
saying what someone was thinking //
// the smell of arcades
46 seconds until the light
sitting drinking coffee Friday afternoon
contemplating reflecting analyzing realizing and
the sinking feeling for tomorrow
It’s never been like this, with anyone.
sleeping pill, dentist drill, rolling uphill,
mentally ill and one dollar bills. 27 seconds.
inches away but decades apart.
diodes, fibers, nylons, suburbs, rivets, conjugations.
I’ve known you for years,
but who ARE you?