(no subject)
Everyone is alone, only you can help yourself. I attempt to look at this objectively - measure up the moments that overwhelm me, that bubble under the surface and rise to that spot behind my nose and make my chin wrinkle with tension.
I can look at myself in these quiet pauses, make myself an object to be measured, tasted, recorded, observed, weighed and written in this place here.I end up with fragments, an empty recollection, a struggle to justify. I make myself an object like a spoon holding up a broken window.'This place here' becomes a mirror. I yearn for the stories not yet written.