i’m happy. i’m happy with where i am. with what has been and what has not. i am so happy with were i am not. i do not even want it anymore. not even a little. there are other things, other places, other people to fill my time with, fill my heart with, fill my life. it’s exciting, and scary, and like living in a book. but sadly without words like ‘equivocal’ and ‘ardent’. yet still, it brings me joy. this world of mine. and i am happy and content.
maybe if I curl up in a ball and turn out the lights, if I squeeze my eyes shut and pretend not to feel, perhaps if I fill my mind with other things, and push out the question. then. I shan’t have to face it.
you’re a red string tied to my finger
a little love letter i carry with me
smoke rings and cigarettes
outlines and kisses from silverscreens.
it crept up on me, like the slow noir that descends at sundown, like the subtle change in drying water colours. i didn’t notice it until i was knee deep, until there didn’t seem to be a way to turn around. and i can’t say i want that - because i would be lying, but this deep darkness is not the way either.