There are too many hours before dusk

(An image of mine)


You are what you love, and not what loves you back

All day I thought I was lonely, was wearing it like a weapon, but I realise that
I was just alone. This is the great distinction of my life, the thing that has had me reaching for door-frames as if the world was falling in on only me. This is what has ruined me.

I do not know how to reconcile these sides of me. I feel a dull sense of duty to the secrets I've pressed into people's open palms, ignoring the fact that they are fractions of me, not them. I want to tell all but I have less and less to say. I am writing a notebook's worth of small character sketches, but the book keeps getting smaller because I rip the pages out every other day and promise to start again.
I want to achieve something, prove to myself that I'm better than a drawer full of balled-up notes and mistreated notebooks. I will finish.
I will finish and fix it all.

things I am forgetting:

- how to talk to you
(I tried my hand at equations, explaining myself through maths, but I got stuck between the cosine and 'both sides must be equal'. I have tasted biology on the tip of your tongue and picked your physics out from between my teeth - chemistry was
why I left and how you stayed, a hairbrush and some gum and a messy bed.

My last hope is dear sweet Desdemona, constant Penelope, two ladies with water in their hair and one who threw herself from the battlements. My last hope is blank verse and comfortable iambic pentameter. My last hope is sibilance and the weight
of punctuation.)

- why I cared, and how, and how much
(nothing feels safe. nothing feels safe. nothing feels safe. nothing feels safe. nothing feels safe. nothing feels safe. nothing feels safe. nothing feels safe. nothing feels safe. nothing)

- why I wrote anything, ever
(that's it, that's all. I am no good)

- promises and bathroom floors
(you were smoking me, weren't you? between your yellow fingers. you just inhaled
and exhaled without saying a word)

-[I have always read 'angels' as 'angles' and I think this explains more than anything else could]


*I am not sure who wrote this, but I truly thought it was wonderfully descriptive.

Here is the link.

Cher