From here, I can see a vast spread of a place in which no one seems to really live.
I can see a calendar tacked to a stark white while.
It reads June 2004.
The window beside me, though closed, breathes hot air unto me and I choke for breath.
I see a large queen sized bed; heavy layers of green bedspreads and extra afghans draped over the edges.
How unfitting for such a murderous summer heat.
Even more peculiar is how neatly arranged it is; every fold is pristinely creased, each thrown blanket tossed as if made ready for a magazine catalog.
A lone brown bear sits in the middle of the pillows, you see sadness in its eyes it matches the lonesome quality the bed seems to harbor.
The bed has seen no sleep and the bear has not been held in quite sometime.
I scan my eyes around the rest of this hollow room.
A chestnut brown bookshelf stands diagonally in the corner; every book alpha
speaking fractured poetry -
This is how it feels, I decide,
to be fixed - no longer
building night on the inside,
but succumbing to fantastical de-
constructions, marvelling at the map
of binary constellations written
under my skin. To feel no fear
staring wide-eyed at the sun,
at old letters of rejection or
even my reflection. Knowing
she's near; understanding she's un-
This is how it feels to be whole:
to watch my breath thin
and bend the glass geometry
of these bottled skies eastward
to collect the sunrise. To memorise
the way the light builds and breaks,
and to love every lost second,
And this is how it feels, I realise,
to sit and cry for days,
when you can only sleep
for seconds, minutes. Defiance:
knowing the weight of the world
is heavy as god, but
beautiful as her insides.