(no subject)
And then there was one.
I feel like I just woke from an eight month hibernation. Off kilter and jet-lagged. What happened? Did this really just happen?
I am packing boxes that were never unpacked, going through papers from November. Papers written, filled out, filed by me. Me, this unrecognizable person. Remembering things I told myself to do yesterday and realizing that yesterday was a day in October. Running in circles on a narrow plateau. Playing witness. Taking note. Forgetting the notes. Getting drunk. Waking with my feet where my head went to sleep. Running towards the destination and finding shortly in that there is none. Keeping my head down and unrecognized, and finally raising it to see that its me that recognizes no one. My body is covered in bruises and I don't remember the fight. Or the fall. Or the collision. Fell asleep on a cold night in January and woke in a cluttered attic. And below there is no snow and now there is light and there is warmth. And still no one has ever said a bad word about May. Please, May I?
I guess the story has been written. I guess that's it. That's all. Now we start again. A new story. And it starts with a ghost. A ghost in an unrecognizeable half-packed room. No one there but a ghost. There is just one.
I feel like I just woke from an eight month hibernation. Off kilter and jet-lagged. What happened? Did this really just happen?
I am packing boxes that were never unpacked, going through papers from November. Papers written, filled out, filed by me. Me, this unrecognizable person. Remembering things I told myself to do yesterday and realizing that yesterday was a day in October. Running in circles on a narrow plateau. Playing witness. Taking note. Forgetting the notes. Getting drunk. Waking with my feet where my head went to sleep. Running towards the destination and finding shortly in that there is none. Keeping my head down and unrecognized, and finally raising it to see that its me that recognizes no one. My body is covered in bruises and I don't remember the fight. Or the fall. Or the collision. Fell asleep on a cold night in January and woke in a cluttered attic. And below there is no snow and now there is light and there is warmth. And still no one has ever said a bad word about May. Please, May I?
I guess the story has been written. I guess that's it. That's all. Now we start again. A new story. And it starts with a ghost. A ghost in an unrecognizeable half-packed room. No one there but a ghost. There is just one.