waking up in a white room;
the page is blank, understandably so. all pages start blank, then end up filled with whatever you fill them with (water, sand, paper birds). sometimes the sentences make sense and bring purpose to our lives, sometimes they mean absolutely nothing at all. we find ourselves in one of those moments, where it could go either way, and i do not get to pick.
today is my birthday. i am thirty-three years old, symmetrically-bound. a song everyone has forgotten comes to mind. it is not even that good a song. these days i prefer alan, singing "on my own."
happy birthday, happy birthday, happy birthday.
i want to wash my face, peel away layers of my skin. i do not particularly wish to be any younger or any older. i need to cut my nails, remove my dress. i need to close my eyes, pull on my lashes. i need to slip under, below; to sleep, to dream. i have seen no moon, but heard the cries of too many seagulls. they take a long time to retire in the night. they do not believe in dark hours, not with so many lights on. we know how it is. the salt in the air reminds us. we are not far behind, with our hair dry and brittle, eyes out to sea.
http://www.meryemyildiz.com/2014/06/30/waking-up-in-a-white-room/