At times, my life feels like the overplayed scene of a woman pinned between a car and a tree. She is stuck, immobile, and has seconds left. She seeks last words but none come to mind. A review of her well-routined life and her free time spent sulking. Ready to say goodbye.
Nude skin. Eyelashes.
The crease of your eye speaks truth
On nights of sorrow.
With each breath, crisp fall air fills her lungs with decay and sorrow. She is sick. The plants are dying and the birds are migrating. Her body is preparing for the dark season.
The coming months will be without sunlight. The air will grow cold, eventually, bone chilling. She will do fine the first few months but the bleak will get to her in due time. The depression will take over but she cannot forget it will be cured again with sunlight and a warm embrace.
We exist in this cozy bed like bats in the night sending signals of desire. It is dark but we are blind with love. With no words, we snuggle closer.
She leans against a pylon in the empty train stop. Her hair is blowing in the breeze and the sounds of the rustling leaves fills her head. The season is changing.
She is not yet where she hoped to be in this new season. She is no where near where she wanted to be. Actually, she hasn’t tried to change at all.
A plane flies overhead and she can feel the rumble of the engine vibrating in her feet. She wants to run but she is paralyzed. Her feet are detached from her brain. Her toes are rooted through the cement beneath her feet, dug deep underground amongst the dirt, amongst the bugs.
A blown leaf catches on her foot. She looks down and moves her feet apart. She has been a barrier for herself. She doesn’t want to block anyone or anything else. The leaf loses grip and floats away with the wind, to continue its destiny.
The lonely sinks in after 3 nights of sitting on the screen porch. Complete quiet except for the low buzz of the insects in the grass. She sits there in her thoughts while she looks out for some wildlife company.
After some time, she hears some rustling from the edge of the wood and in the distance she spots two eyes. A deer has come to feed on the dandelions.
Their eyes connect. She understands that the deer wants his space. The deer understands that she will give him peace. She finds comfort in no longer being alone.
Pick. Pick. Pick.
I picked until my nails bled.
Stress and worry.
Stress and worry.
I wondered why my fingers hurt.