denial as a blanket. my armor. a little nook. cozy and accommodating. a sanctuary. my warm gun. i love the way it’s starting to feel around here.
deeper, decided breaths. waiting, but deliberately resisting the longing for understanding. it’s “fine”.
digging a hole in the yard deep enough to contain the echoes of my wailing heart. not to suffocate or kill it, just so i wouldn’t hear it underneath the floor boards in my sleep.
in this place. down here in hell, without you. sleep isn’t peaceful. i expect to see you in my dreams, but i don’t have to like it.
it’s really whatever. whatever i have to do to keep my head above the tide. making things for and about you, just to get me by. to pass the time. whatever. life isn’t always kind.
and that’s fine.
your name appears on my screen.
chunky peanut butter throat. stomach doing backhand springs. the kind of deafening blank in your ears due atmospheric pressure changes on a plane. numb, sweaty hands. heart doing the pregentrified Harlem shake.
8 months later, my body knows.