writing again, to your detriment.
i am okay
i am okay
i am okay
i am watching the sun set through the back doors in the basement. earlier, i felt the translucent effect on my eyes, when the light splits the difference between the cornea and the lens, when your eyelashes light up like tree branches on fire and you feel like, for a moment, you can see yourself. i am smoking, again, inviting myself to do so more often as i've switched to ultra lights and taken full advantage of the luxury of being allowed to smoke indoors. my hair is a mess. i haven't washed the sleep out of it, since the last time i slept, i dreamt of you. totally unrealistic, of course: there was a dog who climbed the side of the house. upon waking i tried hard to keep my eyes closed, tried hard to get back there.
the first half hour of my morning spent in that half state: your mind too fully aware that you're trying too hard, your eyes refuse to open and your insides trying to push up against that sinking feeling in your gut. the first year of our life, i spent in that half state, but i don't want to talk about you, not right here, not right now. i spent my day in a half state, half spent. half awake, half dressed, half smoked cigarette, half empty glass, halfway to a decision (i said not you, not here, not yet), half-assed plans for this evening. the sun half down through the trees, half my face illuminated in its light. the first twenty-five years of my life spent in half state, and i don't have one entire bubble of thought to hang onto, just halves, but right now i feel okay. right now i feel halfway there.
12/2