(no subject)
The subtle, gentle hint of spring beneath the puffs of air that swim in front of my eyes as I breathe in, breathe out. It carries with it sealed packages tied carefully shut, filled with ugly things, with pretty things, with sad things, with things that I leave alone, until this late winter air draws them out. And I find myself lost in them, drawn into them headfirst, my feet pulled from the earth in utter defiance of gravity, in total disregard of logic and judgment. In the rain under clouds I am walking through brightly lit corridors, shuffling through busy nurses and whispering between screams of patients. And through the weak midday sun I am digging up potted plants and running through the grass of my childhood home that no longer exists. And all the while the here and now pulls at my limbs and pencils in dates on my calendar that my eyes do not read because they are glued elsewhere. All because of air, because of the way the wind hits my face walking up a hill, because of the way the sun comes in the window in the morning. I forget to breathe in, breathe out and I suffocate in my own pensiveness.